Deliverance
by Baked The Author
Summary: Gold Morning is over. Khepri won. Exiled to a world of wonder and magic, humanity's savior decides to make the most of her situation... and start her own business. But what are these large bugs that keep calling her 'Queen?
1. 1: Snowblind

Exactly what it says on the tin. Relax and enjoy!

Disclaimer: I do not own The Elder Scrolls franchise. Shame, isn't it? I also don't own Worm.

FAIR WARNING: this story will get smutty later on. There will be sexual situations throughout, some of them explicit. Honestly, the Harry Potter archives has worse than what I'm planning on here. Still, all individuals are over the age of 17 unless otherwise specified; if they're underage, there will be no lewds.

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Deliverance

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Chapter 1:

Snowblind

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_"…we're small… we're so very small… i-in the end…"_

_"…we are."_

_I didn't hear the shot, but I felt the bullet._

_I didn't feel a second, or the ground._

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I was cold.

Everything was dark gray and howling, whether due to the bone-chilling wind that tore across my legs, or the throbbing pain in my skull… it was hard to tell.

The pain was fading, but the howling still persisted. I tried to move. Other than the cold, I could handle it.

_If this is hell… _I moved my hand. Snow crunched in my fist. The pain in my head was just about gone.

I pushed down; my palm… and my knees met something unresisting, and I lifted my body up. The back of my head hit the hood of a heavy, brown fur cloak.

At least the head wasn't a bear's head, just a normal hood. Before examining my surroundings any further, I tried to examine myself as much as I could while lying in a freezing snowdrift.

I was dressed in an off-white tunic with blue trim; a satchel hung from my left hip and something was strapped to the back of my waist – an ornate katana _what_.

Checking the satchel proved difficult without jostling my cloak cover too much, especially seeing as I was missing my right arm at the elbow still, so I put whatever supplies might be in the bag out of my mind. I didn't feel tired or hungry, or the need to use the necessary.

Find cover, because it was colder than I could remember my home… being...

I couldn't remember the name of where I grew up. I could remember… certain events. Names of people and places, not so much. I took a moment to examine my memories, see what made it out of the fight with… the golden man, and the bullet in my head afterwards.

The Undersiders… I remembered the name of the people I ran with, but… there was a blonde girl. Purple costume, green eyes, a smile I liked to see, and… I kissed her. But it wasn't a happy kiss. I remember respect for her, **how sad she was to see what I became. Even then, she cared for me.**

I remembered a school and… walking up to a locker with fear in my heart. A lot about that school was associated with fear, but a lot of my memories had frightening things in them.

A black girl hitting me; having someone (black hair, pretty, jerk) puppet her into ruining her life; **_she flits through golden doors and space bends to find what I need, so eager to see HIM die._**

A man covered in scales, on fire and glaring at me with one eye; my hand, carving out his other eye with a knife while he lays beaten at my feet; **_standing beside me on a golden battlefield, saving his life from THE GOLDEN MAN._**

A man with glasses, begging me to talk to him; seeing his self-hate when he hears accusations against me, and hating him for it… nothing else, except knowing that I loved him in a non-romantic way. My parent, I guessed, or my guardian.

A woman wearing a fedora, shooting me in the head, **_after I saved everyone but destroyed myself_**.

I decided to put all my past aside and, bracing myself against the… echoing _screams_ the wind brought to my ears like a horde of ghosts, I levered myself up to a crouching position, turning my back to the wind as I did so, and surveyed my surroundings.

What little I could see of them, as I was in the middle of a near white out; the only source of light I could see came from what _appeared_ to be a lighthouse on rocky cliff, its silhouette clear in the snow blowing steadily past my body .

Carefully, I moved the stump of my right arm and examined the scenery in that direction; icebergs and water as far as I could see. To the left… I looked up.

I was at the foot of a huge blue-white glacier, its peaks sharpened teeth in the snowy night.

Thankfully, the wind seemed to be dying down, and there didn't seem to be many cracks in the ice or boulders, so I turned my sights back on the lighthouse.

I didn't know where I was, could barely remember anything except certain tidbits and – I felt my head with my only remaining hand; the spot where I was shot wasn't soft, like it never happened – Contessa decided to dump me here for whatever reason. Likely to torture me, the bitch.

I could remember my name, of course… Khepri. It was the only name I could remember someone calling me, anyway, and the way Contessa said it, was like it came to her easily. Unless that was her fucking with me, of course; in which case, I'll have to track her down and drown her in tea. I could remember hearing she didn't care for the stuff, preferring coffee. No wonder she acted like a robot. Anyway.

I braced myself, took one more look around and, not feeling any bugs around, started trudging through the snow. At least she put boots on my feet and gave me a cloak, as the snow was wet and the storm wasn't quite over.

Climbing the ridge took nearly two hours. The whole time, I looked at the holes in my memories; I knew I was a hero of some sort, but I hadn't started out that way… or maybe I did. I certainly thought the world was broken, and wanted to fix it, but… well, quite a few people seemed to disagree a lot, or tried to kill me for some reason.

The latter usually ended up dead or in jail or **_at the end_**.

I shook my head as I became able to make out a door at the base of the lighthouse; by then, I could remember some names, though I got headaches whenever I tried to remember too hard. I remembered Grue (tall, handsome, protective), Aisha (free, annoying, sneaky), Atlas (my big bug), Amy (sad, respect, a touch to save the world), Regent (a lot of snark), and many other, less important people and things. Like Jack Slash.

Leviathan. Behemoth. Tagg. Coil. Sophia.

Not important, I decided while alternating between walking and trying not to chatter my teeth. The door was close…

And I could feel bugs inside the lighthouse. Fleas and a few ants, some flies…

Two minds looked back at me with small surprise.

_'What?'_

They were both insects, that was clear from the feel of their bodies, six legs and exoskeletons; they were each the size of a large dog – like one of… blonde girl with the dogs, _ugh_, Rachel! Her, one of the dogs she had, Brutus, I thought it was – the bugs were the size of Brutus. Roughly shaped like the horrifying cross between a cockroach and an earwig, I could feel that each had some kind of spat attack that incorporated a gland under their esophagus; they also used the stuff secreted there to eat…

And I could see though their eyes somewhat; I could still see the outside of the lighthouse, but my head was starting to hurt, so I pulled my control back.

I felt them both jerk with surprise and [**fear**]. Wait.

…so, my powers were different. I could feel what insects felt? Or was it because _they_ were intelligent enough to understand me?

I doubted it; they were both eating a woman when I arrived, and felt more or less like animals. They certainly felt afraid of me, though, and knew I was approaching. I wondered if this was how Rachel felt around her dogs, then put aside the thought for later. Both the insects – and there were two others below me, sifting through boxes of grain, if the feel of things was any indication – showed me a lot about my situation at a glance.

After all, if one wants to know about a place where people live, look at what's in their houses.

Either I was on the very fringes of society, in Siberia most likely, or the world I was in was operating on medieval technology.

There was a fireplace, with archaic wall hangings and torches for other light. There'd clearly been a struggle, possibly for a family if what I saw was any indication; the partially-eaten woman reminded me of… well, a lot of occasions that I wasn't in the mood to think about. She was partially eaten, but she wasn't the only corpse in the room.

On one side of the room, a waxy, eyeless creature laid in death; it looked like a reject for the Nilbog's kingdom._ 'Hell, it might've felt at home actually,'_ I figured on seeing the batlike thing. Most important was how it died.

There was a garden hoe stuck in its temple; broken hardwood furniture was everywhere. I'd briefly seen a portrait of a family member, or more than one maybe; the creature's sight wasn't very good.

Also, the dead horse outside didn't bode well for the woman's family. Before I entered, though, I looked at the creatures again; they shivered at my touch, but I kept it light this time, just letting them know where I was, reminding them that I could stop them with a thought.

The first building I arrived at was a murder scene, but there were bugs that I could use as the beginnings of a swarm. My fine control wasn't so good while focusing on the larger bugs, but I could deal; I'd likely adapt to it over time. There was a store room below, but I got the feeling that the doors were locked; the two other bugs down there were curious and wary at the feelings of fear coming from their friends, and were on guard.

That was odd too, my ability to feel the emotions of the creatures before me, but not the ants, weevils, fleas and flies. It suggested that they were intelligent enough to understand death, and therefore pain. The pale creature seemed to have dressed itself in their chitin, as well.

I could feel something else in them, too. I felt like they were used to pain, used to being subjugated. But I felt more [**hate**] directed at the pale creature than anything; nothing clear, just simple hatred, though I could likely see the memory if I focused hard enough…

Contessa dropped me into a mystery right off the bat. Why?

I opened the door, getting a much-needed blast of warm air; I hurried in. It was much warmer, and the two bugs seemed more surprised and a little [**awed**] to see me. I shrugged off my cloak and hung it on a fixed hook. No sense standing around; I had a power to figure out, a murder to solve, a family to find… in short, I had heroing to do.

With a sigh, I tried to remember what Rachel told me about training dogs. It was there, and I had my power, so I spoke to the bug on the left, backing my words up with a mental push, "What are you?"

It was just a test. I didn't think it would work.

All four of the bugs answered at once.

[**chaurus**]

My head rang like a bell as information assaulted it. Food, shelter, clothing, _cattle, security, Falmer_.

I shook myself and stepped closer, rubbing my head with the heel of my palm as a steady tickle of pain thrummed behind my eyes. It passed quick enough, but… I decided to figure out what Falmer were, later. No sense risking brain damage.

Basically, what these… Chaurus told me was… they were semi-sentient bugs who were raised as slaves for those waxy creatures, the Falmer; after a time, they go deeper into the ice and… the four with me didn't know what happened, but they seemed to think they'd change there. Were these actually the larvae? How big did they get? The Chaurus didn't know.

I gave the woman's corpse a wide berth and headed deeper into the ground floor of the lighthouse, only stopping to warm my hands at the fireplace; it was just four doorless 'rooms'. An entry way with two heavy doors on either side – the lighthouse peak access and the basement, I presumed – a circular living area, and two bedrooms.

The woman had a spouse, if the scattered and looted effects were any clue. A husband, by the looks of things; I couldn't read the words in her diary, so I checked my satchel. Maybe that bitch Contessa gave me a way to read their language; if she hadn't, I'd just kill her twice as hard when I found her fashion victim ass.

I noticed one of the black, green-eyed Chaurus watching me, its mandibles chittering and antennae wiggling; I could hear a whisper of emotions and ideas passing between the large bugs. It felt like... they were discussing me; it _seemed_ like they would follow me, if I asked.

From my bag I drew a thin hardcover diary, maybe one hundred pages long with a lockable strap; the key was attached, so I opened it to the first page.

There was… a strange pattern on the first page. It looked like the abstract painting version of the written word; I couldn't think of any other way to describe it. There was a notecard taped to the inside cover.

_Tinkers are bullshit._

_You're welcome_

_-C_

I looked at the book I found next to the parent's bed, open to its first page.

_We did it. We bought the lighthouse. I thought Habd was just making idle promises all these years; what husband doesn't want to promise their wife the two moons from the sky_

I looked at the first page of my diary again. It looked like normal paper. I turned to the next page. It was a map of an unfamiliar country, outlined by a border and other borders that suggested more to the world. There was a small blue dot at the edge of the northern sea; at least there was a compass rose.

Checking my bag to see what other bullshit Contessa gave me, I found a pen and a full canteen of water.

I read the rest of the journal, which seemed to have been written by the wife. The dead woman nearby wrote of her children, Sudi and Mani, and her husband, Habd. A quick search of the children's room – broken flower vase, short novels, practice weapons, a flute, perfumes – and I found the daughter's journal, a quill dripping ink next to it.

_Mani won't listen, he thinks I'm just making up the noises and keeps sneaking into the cellar! Oooh why is he so stupid some times? I don't know why he keeps going down there but I've found the cellar key he copied and hid it in Mother's favorite keepsake._

_The scratching is getting loude_

I found the father's journal near the woman. I asked one of the Chaurus to read it, so I could practice seeing through their eyes; their vision of anything finely detailed or not biological wasn't very good.

I read what I felt was pertinent:

_Sudi keeps saying that she hears scratching coming from the cellar at night. I think she's just trying to get her mother's goat, but I'd better head into town to get a few traps just in case it's skeevers. Should only take a couple days. I just hope those two go easy on Ramati while I'm gone._

_Oh Gods. Oh gods why?_

_I returned home to find my beautiful Ramati killed and this thing, this horrible bug-like creature ransacking our home. I managed to kill the damned thing, I think it might be a daedra!_

I looked around. There was a small example on the ground nearby, dead. I walked over to the basement door; the lock was broken. I read what little was left, then stored the book in my satchel and drew the katana; the edges glowed a little, like it was on fire.

_I've never seen anything like it! Oh gods poor R_

I didn't know what skeevers were, but they certainly weren't Chaurus. Or Falmer.

_'A hero's work is never done, it seems,'_ I mentally sighed; I couldn't see the bodies of the other three family members anywhere in the main house, whether with the fleas or the Chaurus. Which meant the Falmer or the other Chaurus – as it was implied there were many more below – must've kidnapped the poor people.

Hopefully, I'd find them intact, help them find the nearest town or castle or whatever, and be able to retire in perfect anonymity while some knights or something dealt with the infestation here; I'd see if I could manage to keep a few, as research into their biology and life cycle. So knights could kill them better, of course; my intentions were completely – sarcastically – honorable.

I'd had enough wars and fights for ten lifetimes. If it was possible to settle down somewhere, preferably a good distance from the lighthouse I was standing in, somewhere quiet with people and the occasional monster hunt to keep my skills fresh, I was more than happy to deal with no internet or television for the rest of my life. At least I wouldn't be bored, with an entire world to learn about and explore to my heart's content.

If they were dead… I'd cross that bridge when I came to it. I'd wasted enough time as it was. One last fight before I went looking for greener pastures.

Looking at the nearest Chaurus, which was still watching me neutrally, I gestured toward the waxy creature's corpse and told them, "I'm going to kill the Falmer, and free the other Chaurus. Will you help me?"

That seemed to excite all four of the dog-bugs, if their wiggling antennae, drooling mouths and clicking mandibles were any indication. Their eagerness to rip and tear at their waxy overlords was...

Music to my ears.


	2. 2: Decisions

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Chapter 2:

Decisions

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I was too late.

Hours later, deep underground, I stood over the body of Sudi, and watched as my Chaurus wrapped her in a deer hide I found in one of the Falmer's huts. She'd killed herself. I didn't know where she got the knife, likely off one of the Falmer going by the make, but I couldn't blame her for the choice.

Given the condition I found her in, what the Falmer did to her… I really couldn't blame the girl.

I'd found her brother, earlier. I would never know what he was doing, sneaking down to the basement at night. Playing pranks… something more diabolical? I decided to go with pranks; the idea that the boy was simply bored and entertained himself by scratching on things… well, it seemed likely.

I remembered a boy… Bryce, I believed. Mani looked like he was Bryce's age, as I remembered the other kid.

Whatever the truth, the Falmer were dining on his corpse when I found him.

Taking exception to their activities, I had my Chaurus spit on one of them – and resolved never to be on the receiving end of that spit – and secured the other for questioning.

There was a fenced pen in the room, with two more Chaurus… and a small clutch of eggs. One of the Chaurus was female, I felt, and both were grateful for my appearance and eager to assist; I ordered what bugs weren't holding the waxy, snarling creature down to take apart a nearby hut, then directed their claws in making a crude sled, to tow Mani's body and any salvage I found. Good thing there was rope.

As for the Falmer… I came to find that the Chaurus were less animals than their oppressors.

I stood over the shrieking thing – none of its brethren were coming, according to a Chaurus I was using as a lookout – and, figuring it looked somewhat humanoid, attempted to speak with the blind being, "Where are your prisoners?"

All I was answered with was more animalistic shrieking; according to one of my Chaurus, the hooked flail on its belt was used to discipline the enslaved bugs, and a rattle was always used. If they heard the rattle, pain would come soon. It was the reason for their [**hate**] of the Falmer.

There was more, a Falmer's hand shooting _lightning_, but I'd seen no evidence of such, and the one before me wasn't talking and probably didn't have enough of a mind to do so. I let the Chaurus kill it, and then forged on.

Not long afterward, I was treated to what that lightning was like, when a _female_ Falmer sent a fork of it my way. For some reason, she was capable of using the Blaster attack _and _could summon some kind of Breaker ability that made her body more resistant to damage, somehow with one hand; the other hand was occupied by a staff that _also_ fired lightning, suggesting the local equivalent of a Tinker somewhere. The Chaurus' mandibles met with resistance on the skin of the creature, like trying to cut through wood with a kitchen knife.

Luckily for me, there were _three_ Chaurus in the room with her, but two of them died by the time I arrived with reinforcements. The survivor was… proof that the six-legged boys and girls with me _could_, and likely _would_, change into something more.

He was as tall as I was, with four dragonfly-like wings; his butt still looked like an earwig, but the rest of its body reminded me of a wasp more than anything. Two legs were tucked in while in flight, while the forelimbs looked like those of a praying mantis, and his antennae were _much_ longer than the youngster's.

More importantly, the blue-eyed guy was intelligent enough to realize I was controlling him, that he was male, and was able to provide clearer communication on what he was feeling; he had no problem with my taking him over, but, after I told him what I planned to do, he became concerned for me…

[**queen**] [**deep**] [**other**]

To his, and apparently all the other Chaurus' instincts, I gave off the same vibe as a queen of their species. I didn't bother correcting them; I liked my skin just how it was: not dissolving in toxic spit.

There was another Chaurus in the pit I was delving into, one that was willingly allied to the Falmer; it helped raise and control the Chaurus in exchange for fresh meat. It wasn't picky, either; human or Falmer didn't matter to it.

As he changed in his pupa, the "other" Chaurus was whispering to him, making him loyal to the Falmer, and my presence broke that apparent brainwashing; my new ally reported this while I ransacked a hut, searching for a book but only finding smoked meat and partially rotted fruit.

I gave the fruit and some of the meat to my allies, ate some of the meat – bit tough, but delicious – and resolved to kill the "other" Chaurus in the deep, and hopefully rescue the father and daughter while I was at it.

I was a hero. I could remember that much about myself; I may have made many bad decisions, but leaving a nest like the one I found, for someone else to stumble upon, when I could do something about it… it was the right thing to do. Neutralize the threat, let everyone know the threat was neutralized, hope no one minds the Chaurus defending the village, put my feet up and make a killing on the honey market. Maybe even start a family.

Unfortunately, I was on my own, as far as making a good first impression went.

Sudi was already dead when I took control of the six Chaurus in her area, including a female… Greater Chaurus? Better than nothing. She was a sneaky little thing, had hidden from the Falmer until she heard my Chaurus delighting in killing alongside their new queen; the winged girl downed three of the waxy horrors, only needing my assistance with one, and did so with much [**humor**] in her thoughts.

There were eight Falmer in the place Sudi was kept. There were also more clothes and gear than were people in the room.

Only one Falmer was left: the apparent leader, if the heavier armor and larger size were any indicator.

Both of the Greater Chaurus were holding the bastard on the ground behind me; its arms and legs were already broken, but it wasn't shrieking in pain. It was still trying to bite me, still trying to attack, even while broken and lying on its back.

Seeing what it and its _brothers_ did to that poor girl, whose bruised, tear-stained face, her pretty yet badly battered figure, reminded me painfully of Imp…

There were fresh drag marks leading to a ledge, the short drop revealing humid conditions and more egg sacs. A man's boot lay abandoned near Sudi.

I watched, numb and furious, as the girl was loaded onto the sled; giving the four Chaurus pulling the two sleds I now had an order, to pull them back to the lighthouse basement, then eat some of the grain and nap-

[**obedience**] [**belief**]

-I waited until the bodies and salvage – and egg sacs, wrapped in thick blankets to keep the cold off them – were out of sight. Then I turned on the snarling, shrieking Falmer, sword in hand.

They had no eyes, navigating and recognizing each other by scent, hearing, and items that they strapped to their body; pieces of victims, small bones, as well as mushrooms and other random objects. I didn't know what they were, or where they came from… or where I even _was_.

But I knew evil when I saw it.

My Chaurus companions, all fifteen of them, ranging in size from a cute little one the size of a wiener dog, to the two human-sized Greater Chaurus, all of them snapped their mandibles and smacked their butts against the ground in a chorus of [**hate**] for the creature at my feet. They felt my [**fury**], recognized it for what it was, and echoed it back at me.

All wasn't lost, I felt; I still had slaves to liberate. But first…

I silenced the snarling filth at my feet, and swore to kill any that crossed my path in the future.

There was just one more thing to take care of.

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Another two hours later, I was curled up on Habd's bed in the lighthouse, the littlest Chaurus, curled up into a ball of warm chitin, held to my chest.

The "other" Chaurus was dead, killed my my own hand, but so were many others, both those that fought for me… and against me.

I had six Greater Chaurus, and nine lesser ones, along with five hundred fertilized eggs; I'd burned everything in the nest, including the corpses, not wanting anything to remind me of what it was like, to face something that used my own tactics against me.

Hearing their death cries, knowing that my Chaurus went to their deaths _believing in me_, hoping I'd slay the "other", who they feared, feeling their determined sadness at killing their own kind… it tugged at my heart.

It was only part of the reason for the tears leaking from my eyes, as I tried to find sleep.

Habd's wife wrote that he wanted his bones cremated in the lighthouse's fire; I gave him that, at least. His family… I would bring their bodies to Dawnstar, the nearest settlement, going by one of the books on Ramati's bookshelf.

There wasn't much, mostly storybooks, but even those were informative, though I lacked the context to understand most of it; there was an atlas, luckily for me, so I at least knew where I was.

Tamriel was the name of the continent I was in the far north of; specifically, I was in the northernmost province, Skyrim. The region was called The Pale; the waters further north, the Sea of Ghosts. An apt name, I felt.

All of it was completely unfamiliar and alien.

Oh, there was trade between the provinces, between Skyrim and High Rock and Hammerfell and Morrowind and Cyrodiil, or so I gathered from Habd's diary; economy was a familiar subject to me, as I'd been the nominal warlord of a city in my previous life – I assumed – but the details behind the names of places, some of the terms used – what in the world was ebony, or Solstheim, or the Dunmer for that matter – what it all meant was still clouded to me. There were no history books, no references.

Luckily, I knew enough about the area I was in to plan a course of action.

Dawnstar was a small port town, about a day's walk to the west; it was the capital of the region or state I was in, the Hold. The town of Dawnstar, which I found a small map of, had a guardhouse, two mines, the port, a smithy, an apothecary, the Jarl's longhouse, and an inn. There were other homes there, for the miners and dockworkers and the guards' families; it gave me the idea of a sleepy little town on the fringes of civilization.

The Hold, and Dawnstar itself, was ruled by a Jarl, a town mayor or land baron who also acted as the state's governor; I didn't know who they were, but the family that lived in the lighthouse were technically subjects of the Jarl. Or just lived in the Hold; I didn't know enough about the politics of the world to reach a conclusion.

I was lost. I could barely remember my old life. I missed the blond girl whose smile I liked; her absence struck me deep, for some reason. I wished I could remember her name, why we were so close.

I wished she was with me.

Drying my eyes, I let the little squirming bundle of chitin leave my embrace, smiling bitterly as he let out a [**happy**] chitter and nudged my head affectionately; the tyke quickly curled up next to one of the other Chaurus I was sharing my bed with (a quick roll in the snow was enough to clean the grime from their bodies). The Greaters – I really needed a better name for them – were near the fire with the eggs, and would watch the door in shifts.

Once dawn broke, I'd… _we_ would set out for Dawnstar.

Once I was there, assuming they didn't just kill me on sight, I would explain my situation and offer to clear the town of harmful pests, as well as my aid in times of need, in exchange for room and board. I was sure the offer of honey would go over well; the tech level of the world, as far as I could tell, was definitely medieval-era… though the brass steam pipes that were in the deep begged to differ.

I seriously doubted those pipes were the works of the Falmer, but I didn't know a damn thing about the world as it was. For all I knew, the Falmer made them in some long age past, and some horror took their sight and sanity. It was even possible.

The people of Tamirel could use magic.

I made sure not to think about that, until I could see someone _not _a Falmer use the stuff; hopefully there would be some kind of scientific explanation. There was a college, to the east, but that would lead to more questions than my already taxed psyche could handle; if they could read my mind…

Regardless, I couldn't be the same person I was before, the young woman I could barely remember being. I was tired of fighting. Every time I fought, something worse would happen, and even victory felt like a defeat.

The… the deep, under the lighthouse, was just the most recent and raw in a long string of fights that ended with me worse off than when I started, with other people dead because I wasn't fast enough, wasn't there in time.

So I'd go to Dawnstar, get rid of all their fleas, offer mine and my Chaurus buddies' assistance should any threat attack the town, and hopefully have some help setting up the beehives; honey was surely a rare commodity in these parts, and it felt warmer outside than last night, so everyone would benefit having honey out of the comb and I'd be able to make some money, eventually travel south to more civilized regions once I had enough saved up.

Maybe someday, my memories would return. Maybe, with magic, I might see the blonde girl in my thoughts again, or at least remember her name.

But, until that hopeful future came to pass, I just wanted to live in peace with my bugs, and hopefully a cup of tea with some honey. At _least_. I'd more than earned my retirement, and I intended to enjoy it as much as I could.

With that last determined thought, I drifted off, the soothing hums of my sleeping companions lulling me into a restful sleep.


	3. 3: Arrival at Dusk

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Chapter 3:

Arrival at Dusk

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While walking to Dawnstar, I needed a way to entertain myself to pass the time, so I named the Greater Chaurus.

Only a small part of me said that I shouldn't, that I would eventually sacrifice them; I ignored it. While they didn't have a good sense of the passage of time, the oldest Chaurus felt she'd been alive for a long time, so until I could research how they matured and lived, I assumed Chaurus lived for years.

Additionally, I wasn't about to sacrifice my boys and girls needlessly, especially not the littlest buggy dear perched on the back of my cloak, squeaking and chirping over my shoulder at all the new sights he was seeing. My Chaurus were beautiful, strong, and kind; anyone who wanted to kill me or them would quickly find themselves suffering a terminal case of the deads.

But I still only named the Greater Chaurus, telling the other nine I would name them once they pupated and matured. They seemed [**happy**] with the decision, which made me smile. I was happy that I wasn't alone.

I named each of the Greater Chaurus after a name from my memories.

The oldest was a female that was taller than I was, with pale yellow eyes and a serious disposition; she disliked the younger female's pranking and distracted nature, and worked hard to enforce a marching order with her brethren, taking point as we walked along the rocky shores of the Pale, with a male at her side and two others in the forest.

The sleds and lesser Chaurus, and the younger female Greater, walked with me, the remaining male skirting the ridge at the edge of the beach; I approved of her choice, and contented myself with walking in the middle of the pack.

I named the older female Skitter, for the chittering of her teeth and the way she tended to skitter quickly on four legs when not flying. I also admit I laughed when she [**approved**] of the name, and held her head higher after her naming.

The four males I named after Rachel's dogs; none of them were too intelligent, but all of them were fiercely loyal to me, going so far as to warn their lesser kin against trying to nibble me, something I knew they wanted to do; the little guys couldn't help themselves, as it was their nature.

The tallest one was Judas, while I favored his stocky brother, the one I first met, with the name Bentley. The remaining two were Bullet and Twinkie; the first was fast on both legs and wings, and the other seemed to enjoy food (I had to stop Twinkie from licking everything in sight).

Judas stayed close to Skitter, usually, while Bullet and Twinkie enjoyed terrorizing a deer that came too close to our group… and a large bear, as well.

The hides, antlers and claws were added to the sleds, and my Chaurus feasted on fresh meat while I nibbled a loaf of stale bread with butter, while the bright sun made its way from west to east.

Bentley tended to keep to himself, but always kept one antennae pointed in my direction.

And then there was… Imp.

The youngest female liked flitting about whenever I wasn't looking, always coming back with a shiny rock or a flower or some of those noisy, glowing, lettuce-looking plants. She, and all the Chaurus really, were in wonder at their surroundings; none of them had ever seen the world before, and were eager to explore with me.

Personally… I liked the Pale. What I could see of it, anyway.

The weather was warmer than the night I arrived, and steamy runoff was trickling over the stony beaches from the craggy forests; I took that to mean spring was close. The Sea of Ghosts smelled salty and sharp, contrasting nicely with the sappy smell of the evergreen trees Bullet and Twinkie were flitting through. The flowers Imp found for me smelled nice, and the common bugs, while a little larger and more vibrant than I could remember, informed me that the world I was in wasn't all dark and dreary.

I felt… that I would like living in Skyrim.

Imp chittered [**delight**] at me again, along with a [**food**] alert from Skitter; looking ahead, the little tyke on my shoulder clicking his mandibles in [**interest**], I saw… something.

It was ugly as sin, with short tusks and a wrinkled, fleshy body, beady little eyes set in a face that looked like it got hit with the Ugly Rock; it was also growling and barking at both me and the Chaurus, who all began snapping their claws and thumping their butts back at it. The thing, whatever it was, seemed to be guarding its catch of trout.

Not wanting to spill any blood needlessly, remembering that we had plenty of food on the sled, and knowing that none of my Chaurus were hungry, I told Skitter to skirt around the thing; if it attacked, we'd disabuse its notions of thinking us tasty snacks.

It did attack, when Judas' glaring seemed to spurn the sausage-creature to blubbery action.

The beast didn't taste much like sausage, but at least I knew where the dried meat I ate in the pit came from, when I made a small fire with Habd's flint and tinder and settled down for a light lunch. I'd have to ask someone what they were called… once I met someone, anyway.

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Night was falling, and I was becoming tired, when I spotted the mainmast of a ship.

"Finally," I breathed to myself, rubbing my aching stump under my cloak; my shoulder-Chaurus was curled up with the eggs, along with most of the youngsters. The air might've been humid, but my companions preferred darker, warmer conditions than what I just marched them through.

Luckily, there was a lovely grotto near the town, hidden in the crags; Skitter and Bullet dealt with the resident bear, and were settling the egg sled in its warm depths. There was a natural spring feeding a large pool, and some shimmering stones on the interior walls; once I knew more about the world, I'd figure out what those were, but first I needed to make a good impression.

Imp was to my right with Bentley, whistling in [**interest**] at the smells of the town ahead. Two of the younger Chaurus were to my left, pulling the sled that held Habd's family, the Falmer's weapons, and some of the salvage from the pit, and Judas was hiding in the trees that surrounded the town, ready to intervene if things got messy. I really, _really_ hoped no one panicked.

The smell of fireplaces, cooking food, the sound of voices… it all came together and made me teary-eyed. For two days, I'd had nothing but my bugs to keep me company. As my powers couldn't control the Falmer, I deduced that I couldn't control people anymore. I was desperate to hear someone talk.

A guard was making his rounds over my way, to the north-east of the town, so I lowered my hood and strode forward fearlessly, making sure my Chaurus kept slightly behind me as I walked around one last crag and into the guard's sight. He stiffened and drew his bow at the sight of me, and I took a moment to examine him.

He was wearing a white sash over thick leather and chainmail, and his face was hidden by a full-face helmet; a wooden round-shield held some kind of pointed cross, which I spotted repeated on the sash. The symbol of Dawnstar I presumed.

Then Imp bounded around the corner and hissed warningly at the poor man, who cursed softly and drew an arrow.

Pursing my lips, I decided to diffuse the situation, and barked at Imp, "You get your buggy butt back in line, young lady," her antennae wilted as she looked between me and the guard, who seemed surprised by what I just said; Imp was [**concerned**], but I wasn't having it, "No, he's not going to hurt me, because _we're_ not here to hurt him. Bentley," I kept going, loud enough for the guard to hear, Imp's stocky brother leaping to her side and nodding his antennae at me in [**understanding**], "Good boy."

I turned back to the guard and raised my arms, opening my cloak to show I was both armed and not here for a fight, "Good evening, sir; I'm sorry about them, they're very protective of me. My name is Khepri. I bring news from the lighthouse up the coast, where I defeated a little over a dozen Falmer and liberated these Chaurus from their clutches. They are mine."

The guard seemed shocked into motionlessness; was it something I said, or my manner of dress? Was it the sword, or the sled?

"What in Shor's name happened to your arm, lass?" the man gruffly asked, his heavy accent doing nothing to mask the stunned and slightly suspicious tone, his helmeted face looking between me and Imp, who was giving the guard's bow a stink-eye.

I blinked at his rather tactless question, and looked at my stump. The first words spoken to me since Contessa, and they were about something unimportant.

Looking dryly back at the guard, I told him calmly, "It was like that when I woke up, on the edge of the Sea of Ghosts," he jerked in surprise, but I plowed on, "I can control insects of all types, so I'm fairly sure the Chaurus didn't do it."

"Bori! What's going on over there?" another voice shouted, making the guard's head nearly spin off his shoulder as he looked between me and his compatriot.

_'This might take a while,'_ I thought as I patiently and calmly introduced myself all over again, while on the other end of a few drawn bows and swords.

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I was only partially right. It was two hours before I was settled in a room at Dawnstar's inn, a warm bowl of stew on my lap.

Eventually, between my insistence of nonviolence and ensuring the Chaurus didn't posture _too_ much, someone managed to inform the Jarl of my sudden appearance.

It was thus I was introduced, with Bentley at my side, to one Jarl Skald. I wished I could say the encounter was pleasant. It was not.

On one hand, the man who held in his hands the fate of life and death for the two hundred people living in Dawnstar, and the Pale, _didn't care_ about Habd or his family. In his own sneered words, "If the Redguard idiot wanted a place to retire, he should've taken his brats back to his own country." Happily, the rest of the important townspeople, who gathered in the longhouse to hear my tale, managed to convince the heartless man to give the people a proper burial.

Even getting Sudi, Mani and Ramati that was like pulling teeth with the Jarl; it was easier to explain that, as a crippled veteran who couldn't remember anything of her origins, I simply wanted to retire, and was willing to lend my remaining arm, and my Chaurus, in defense of the town, in exchange for assistance from the smith – for the apiary I was planning to build – and a roof over my head, at least until I gathered enough money to move to other lands.

He gave me some gold coins, for "dealing with those pesky, godless Falmer," and waved me away.

Luckily for me, the townspeople disliked Skald – I would only use the honorific if I was in his presence – as much as I did, and were more empathic than he was.

The innkeeper, a handsome single father by the name of Thoring, confessed that he'd spoken with Habd not a week ago regarding skeevers, which were basically large rats. His daughter (and the inn's bard), Karita, seemed upset at the idea of the Falmer being so close to Dawnstar, and was the one to suggest putting me up until I could afford a place of my own.

"Aren't you frightened of the Chaurus?" I asked what I felt was a good question, though Imp ruined it by trying to pounce on a firefly while we walked from the longhouse to the inn.

No one was terribly surprised or frightened by my abilities; if anything, the knowledge that I could sense and direct any insect in a wide radius seemed to make people happy. That the flea and weevil populations across the town were being swiftly reduced seemed to make everyone very accepting of my presence in the Hold capital.

Before being shown to my room by Abelone, the inn's maid, I was first examined by Erandur, a priest of Mara, and the first Dunmer I ever met. He was a kind if somewhat careworn man, and I was forced to admit, in the privacy of my thoughts, that I found the Dark Elf rather handsome.

"Well, there's nothing I can do about the arm, as it's healed over quite well," I sighed as the watery, warm feeling of the golden light in his hands left my stump and the red-gold robed Elf folded his arms with a smile on his goateed face, "Other than needing a good meal and some rest, you're in fine health Miss Khepri."

"My memories?" I asked softly, standing from the bench in the inn's common room and returning his smile with a hopeful one of my own. I'd sent the salvage, Imp, Bentley and the two youngsters back to the cave in the forest; Judas was standing guard at the grotto's entrance, and I'd found some wasps in the fields south of Dawnstar, so I wasn't without some protection. I'd piss off the local merchants once I had a good night's rest.

Erandur shook his head regretfully, "Alas, that's not my area of expertise; I know you've suffered a blow to the head, but I'm not a specialist. There might be someone at the College, but that's a fairly long and unsafe road, given your physical condition. The best I can do is suggest you pray to the Divines for clarity, rest, and hope for the best."

He left me with a book, _Ten Commands, Nine Divines_, and with a "Mara bless you", left me to the mercy of the remaining townsfolk.

The children were especially curious what happened in the deep of the lighthouse, but, seeing the disgruntled looks on the faces of their parents, I smilingly replied with, "I had my bugs sting the Falmer and sent them fleeing into the sea. They won't bother anyone in the future. And if they come here, I'll give them _all_ the fleas."

That went over well. Hearing the laughter of children was nice.

The only other people who spoke with me that evening were the town blacksmiths: Rustleif, a rugged middle-aged Nord with naturally grey hair, and his wife, Seren, a noble-faced Redguard with dark hair.

Well, _spoke_ was a little strong. More like assaulted me with a tape measure and questions about what I was looking for in a prosthetic. It was through breathlessly answering their questions that I found Seren knew of the family at Frostflow Lighthouse, and both husband and wife regretted not being able to do anything for them; thus, as the one who avenged them – and promised honey for the town come summertime – they were willing to go the extra mile to help me.

The stew was delicious, and the bed was warm. My Chaurus were happy, and, honestly, so was I. Even though toilet paper wasn't a thing in Dawnstar, at least sewers were, as was hot water.

Stripping out of my clothes, I climbed into musky fur blankets; I was safe, the people seemed to trust me and were eager to help me, and the night was warm, so I slept in the nude, hiding the twenty wasps I'd gathered in nooks and crannies, my blade propped against the bedside table next to a stack of books.

The room was small, and simple; a bed, bedside table with a candle, a desk and chair, an alcove with a hole that aspired to be a toilet. No tub or shower, but a bucket would serve fine until I found somewhere with indoor plumbing; I heard three of the other Hold capitals, including the national capital, Solitude, had _aqueducts_. I resolved to move there, or Whiterun, before the year was out.

The people in Dawnstar were nice, but Skald reminded me of _Tagg_ too much for comfort. Luckily, everyone _but_ him seemed sensible enough to get to know, so I could bear it for the time being.

I still had scars littering my body, though I could barely remember each one. It didn't matter.

My stomach was full, the next day would be the 1[sup]st[/sup] of Sun's Dawn. Winter was ending, I had a stack of history books on my bedside table – at the discrete courtesy of the Jarl's court wizard, Madena – and my whole life ahead of me.

Yes, there were whispers of strife, of battles and "Thalmor" and someone named Stormcloak, while I sat in the inn and let Erandur see to my person, but those weren't my problems. If trouble came knocking, I'd show trouble what _real _trouble was, but right then, nude and lying in a warm inn on the edge of a brand new world, a wide, happy smile lit up my face.

I'd won my war, killed a god, and could finally rest. It felt good. So what if there were troubles? Someone else could deal with them.

"Fuck you, Contessa," I said to the air, still grinning, and snuggled into my furs for a well-deserved sleep.


	4. 4: Impressions of the Mighty

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Chapter 4:

Impressions of the Mighty

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**5 days after Khepri's arrival in Dawnstar**

**City of Windhelm, Palace of Kings, private dining room**

**Jarl Ulfric Stormcloak**

"…now that Law-Giver's out of the way," Ulfric swirled the mug of piss Black-Briar had the nerve to call mead, the chiseling bitch, and looked over at Frokmar Banner-Torn, who'd arrived from the Pale that morning in good spirits, "What's this I hear about honey in Dawnstar?"

All the members of the council, save Banner-Torn, looked dubious, and Ulfric couldn't blame them. Dawnstar was too cold, too far north, for bees to thrive in numbers that could make any significant dent in the honey market, something which Honeyside in the Rift had cornered for the past two decades. The Jarl of Windhelm was certain the letter from old Skald that arrived the previous day was just a flight of fancy, a product of the excitable if loyal man's boastful nature. Nothing would come of such an endeavor, insect-controlling mage or no.

Though the idea of having someone who could control Chaurus in his employ… something to consider.

Banner-Torn still leaned forward with a smug smile, "I take it you've heard of the woman in question, Khepri?" Ulfric nodded and waved the man continue, "I've met her. Thin woman, but whipcord strong, for a cripple."

"Cripple?" that hadn't been in Skald's letter…

"Missing her right arm at the elbow," nodded the leader of Skyrim's true sons and daughters in the Pale, "Quite easy on the eyes, all the same. Long hair and legs, dark green eyes, cute mouth and nice laugh-"

"Enough about how often you've tugged your horker over the woman's looks, Frok," Gonnar, the commander in the Rift, moaned with impatience, drawing chuckles and agreeing grunts in equal measure, "What of her abilities?"

"Well, she isn't a mage, I can say that much," reported the young man, folding his hands on the table and looking at his brothers, "She went to the court wizard for advice on awakening her magic. Doesn't know a single spell, though I hear she's been trying. As for the honey," Frok leveled a gaze on Ulfric and Galmar, who was standing at the Jarl's – and future High King's – shoulder, "Khepri has enlisted the help of several of Dawnstar's citizens in building an apiary; before I left, she'd already gathered quite a few bees from the surrounding fields, been keeping them in baskets, while she stays at the inn."

Sighing, Ulfric waved a hand in dismissal, "If this 'Khepri' wishes to waste her time on boondoggles, let her," he _did_ hope she succeeded, however; Black-Briar's mead wasn't nearly as good as that juniper berry stuff he had in Helgen, and the less said about the _swill_ coming out of that new brewery near Whiterun, the better, "Anything else about her, or the Pale?"

Banner-Torn glanced briefly at his papers and went on, "Khepri controls a small group of Chaurus, number unknown but not likely more than fifteen, which she's keeping in a defended cave outside the town, though it's not uncommon to see a Hunter following her around during the day."

Ulfric wasn't the only man who went wide-eyed, but it was Galmar who rumbled, "And Skald lets her? Has he lost his senses?!"

Frok raised his hands, "No one's been attacked, and the streets are cleaner; she uses them, the Chaurus," he explained further, "to pick up waste and trash. Khepri told the innkeeper the Chaurus use waste and trash as construction material for their hives; last I heard, she was looking for records on the sewers, plans on cleaning up the cisterns."

Gonnar snorted and folded his arms, muttering, "Wish she'd visit Riften, if that's her game."

Istar glared at the side of his fellow's head, "And have Chaurus running all over the fields? You've been drinking too much of Black-Briar's piss, methinks."

"Order," said Ulfric, and there was order. He looked at Frok, who shifted and cleared his throat; something _else?_

"A small group of bandits, ten in total, tried to accost the snowberry minders, the evening before I left," finally, Ulfric was back in familiar territory, "The parents had their children out, teaching them the ropes, when the bastards tried to poke at the town. Three of the bandits are in the guardhouse prison, four were chained to the iron mine, one was killed in the fields, and the last two, including the leader, went to the block."

"Nice to see Skald's taking the initiative," Kottir Red-Shoal, the commander in the Reach, groused bitterly, "Unlike the Imperial asskisser in my region."

"Actually, the bandits surrendered after running afoul Khepri's wasps, then the guards and her Chaurus once they arrived. By the time they made it to the fields, the bandits were blinded and screaming for mercy. The mage was shot dead by the captain of the watch, the rest threw down their arms after seeing the fifteen guards and _six_ Chaurus Hunters arrayed in front of them."

"Shor's _balls_," Arrald Frozen-Heart's curse set off the rest of the men, some calling for Khepri to join the cause, others calling for her death before she became a threat.

Ultimately, however, the Jarl of Windhelm had the final say: Khepri, by her own admission, was in quiet retirement, and would lend her arm and Chaurus in defense of Skyrim's people. Ulfric would not force someone out of retirement, just so they could fight on the battlefield.

Besides, her ability was unheard of, the people of Dawnstar were happy with Khepri's presence, and she was making _honey_, apparently with confidence in eventual success.

Hopefully, someone would teach the woman to brew some mead, and no silly moron would drag her into the conflict – Ulfric glared around the table until everyone nodded at his decree.

The future High King of Skyrim didn't have any illusions: an ability like Khepri's was worth more than its weight in gold, but using that ability for war might cause undue escalation, which his cause couldn't afford at such an early stage. Morale needed a boost, and the situation in Dawnstar would look good on the broadsheets, not to mention the ledgers, if Zenithar blessed the woman's works.

Therefore, she would be watched, and subtly guarded, and may the Nine watch over her fortunes.

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**20 days after Khepri's arrival in Dawnstar**

**Thalmor Embassy, Elenwen's Solar**

**Grand Inquisitor First Ambassador Elenwen**

The leader of the Thalmor's efforts in Tamriel's most barbaric province - Orsinium didn't count - rubbed her temples, trying to stave off the headache threatening to overtake her senses; it seemed she would be spending time at her Alchemy station, later.

"A pirate vessel?"

The Pale's spymaster nodded easily, "Quite ma'am. After she outed the Mythic Dawn enthusiast as a secret worshipper of Dagon and was given his house as reward, it wasn't two days before the Ghostbeards came out of the sea and tried to raid Dawnstar. Unfortunately for the churls," he smirked, and Elenwen felt a small twitch of her own lips; the leader of those pirates was a bloody perfidious _greenie_, "they had _quite_ a few fleas, lice and ticks on board; by the time the landing party arrived, they practically ran weeping into the arms of the town guards. Those who didn't go to the mines swung from the gibbets by morning."

Elenwen would've snorted in mirth, were it not for her headache, a product of _disbelief_, regarding the seeming-Akaviri woman who appeared from the mists of the Sea, wiped out a den of putrid Falmer without so much as a scratch, and immediately settled down… to research the Chaurus and make _honey_, in _Dawnstar_ of all places, "And the pirate's leader?"

"Tried to attack Khepri, who came out for a cup of evening tea on her porch, as is her wont," chuckled the Bosmer in front of her; Elenwen rolled her eyes, and the idiot got on with it, "Obviously, that didn't go very well for him. Her largest Chaurus, a prodigiously-sized Hunter, took great pleasure explaining to the idiot why attacking the Beekeeper of Dawnstar is a poor idea."

"Quite," admitted Elenwen with a huff. There were already multiple threat assessments on Khepri's powers, from multiple organizations throughout Skyrim – save the College, who were still in the dark, _thank Mephala_ – and all were in agreement: the young crippled woman might not have much magic beyond what all children learned, or was possessed of notable skill with her blade – though she regularly sparred with the town's guards…

But between Khepri's ability to control insects over a large area – a preliminary survey showed her area of influence covered roughly a quarter standard mile – and the girl's cleverness in enterprise – _honey! _In_ Dawnstar!_ Black-Briar was foaming at the mouth in fury when she found out, according to Elenwen's agents – proved she was either an invaluable potential asset… or a frightful threat.

Eliminating her would be insanely difficult to accomplish without anyone becoming suspicious; the Dark Brotherhood assassin that tried to snipe her while she was walking in Dawnstar's southern fields, entertaining children with butterflies, found _that_ out the hard way. Elenwen wasn't about to underestimate Khepri, but neither would she make an enemy of a potential asset, not one so capable of enriching the coffers of those who held her friendship.

"What of the pirate's ship? I assume the Jarl claimed it?"

Her informant shifted and grimaced, "It flies Dawnstar's flag, yes, but Khepri is encouraged to come aboard whenever the fishermen who man it go out. So she can call crab into the nets, your Worship," the tree-hugger explained to his superior's raised eyebrow.

Elenwen frowned, "Common crab, not just mudcrab?" he nodded, and she huffed again.

Was there nothing with an exoskeleton the girl _couldn't _control? If there indeed wasn't… "And the Vigilants of Stendarr cleared her… I see," Ellenwen rubbed her chin and dismissed her informant with a wave of a hand.

She updated Khepri's dossier to include 'Not a devotee to Namira', 'Do not escalate hostilities', 'possible means of husbanding insect populations, research into economic implications ongoing', and…

Elenwen added Khepri's name to the list for the Midsummer's Day celebration at the Embassy, underlining the woman's name in gold and throwing a 'plus one' in for good measure. Good inroads now meant quality honey in her tea later; Gods and spirits knew _Riften_ couldn't provide anything _approaching_ quality, and importing goods from Summerset was just so expensive.

Happy with her decision to keep hands off of Khepri – for the moment; the human _was_ rather fit, and would soon be in Elenwen's domain – the leader of Skyrim's Thalmor set both dossier and invitation list aside, folded her hands on her desktop and smiled at her next appointment as he entered.

"Ancano, I trust you've packed your things?"

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**22 days after Khepri's arrival in Dawnstar**

**College of Winterhold, Hall of the Elements**

**Arch-Mage Savos Aren**

"And you are certain of this?"

Urag nodded slowly at Savos' wondering question, and grunted, "There's a couple who order books by letter, living in the town. Husband is a dockworker, we keep up correspondence. Guy isn't a fool or a drunk."

Savos stroked his beard and hummed with interest. _Great_ interest. A woman, who appeared from nowhere dressed in Akaviri gear, possessed not only the ability to control every insect in Dawnstar – which was now gaining notoriety as 'flea and bedbug free' – but could also control and _communicate with _the Chaurus!

In all his years, the Arch-Mage had never heard such a claim, but there it was; other claims had reached his ears, over the past weeks, regarding the rising sensation in the Pale, regarding the one called Khepri, but to hear it from Urag, a most sober and learned fellow…

His colleagues certainly seemed to take the implications seriously, particularly Mirabelle, the resident Master Alchemist and his Master-Wizard.

"Savos, do you know what this means?" the woman excitedly gushed, many of her counterparts looking equally interested; Savos only hummed. He could think of _dozens_ of things Khepri's skills could mean, not just for the college, but for _Nirn_, "A chance to actually study the Chaurus, without fear of being eaten! This is the chance of an Era!"

He looked at her and said soberly, "I'm well aware of that, Mira. More importantly, her ability suggests she may be able to tell us about many other species of insect… including silt-striders, possibly," an excited murmur ran through the Hall, but Savos ignored it. He needed to make a move, before the Synod or College of Whispers caught wind of Khepri, "Faralda, take that Neophyte, ah, Brelyna, I believe – no, Tolfdir, don't argue; based on my observations and her test grades, I'm confident the girl is ready for her Apprentice test – take Brelyna and go interview this Khepri woman, see what you can learn from the girl, and if she's willing to teach whatever spell or enchantment allows her to do what she does."

Such an ability was worth more than many of his own, Savos deduced. The kwarma foragers of Vvardenfell would've given their left hands for such a skill, were they still alive. He wondered if that old Telvanni bastard, Neloth, was still out there… then dismissed the thought. The last thing Skyrim needed was one of _those_ types, especially given the political climate. The eccentric ass could stay in his dusty mushroom.

Mirabelle looked displeased by his choice of emissary, likely due to not being able to go herself and gather hard-to-get Chaurus ingredients, such as antennae and eggs. Tolfdir looked sad but accepting; the old Nord really needed to learn that, while safety was all well and good, the students couldn't be Neophytes forever. Brelyna was 16, for Boethiah's sake, and could easily handle a few bugs.

Still… with a smile, Savos added an order, "Oh, and see if she's willing to part with a few chitin samples and Alchemical ingredients – I'll draw up some spending money for you both – and make sure to take copious notes on what you see."

Faralda nodded with an agreeing smile, "Brelyna is getting quite good at sketching, Arch-Mage. We'll set out tomorrow morning and stay in Dawnstar for, say, a week?" splendid! Savos nodded, happy that he chose an emissary that was both independent and organized. She and the soon-to-be Apprentice would be back in no time, possibly with a revolutionary spell on hand, "Though, Arch-Mage, my classes…"

He waved her off, and then Savos put on a shit-eating grimace; time for the bad news, "I will cover them until your return, my dear Faralda. That… and I'd rather you not be here when the Thalmor overseer arrives."

As the protests and wails began, Arch-Mage Aren hoped – though it was a small hope – that Khepri would come to Winterhold. The idea of one of those racist Thalmor fatally insulting the Chaurus Whisperer… well, if it didn't happen, at least Savos could imagine it after every inevitable argument with the no-doubt up-themselves goldskin.

"Enough," he waved his hands for quiet, "We will do as we've always done. The Thalmor can stick his nose in our business all he wants, but our independence lies outside the treaties and laws of the lands; whatever his opinion, we are the College, and will continue our research whether he likes it or not," that mollified them, so Savos smiled and pressed on with the staff meeting, "Now that's out of the way, let us speak on other matters. Sergius, what's this about the remains of a barrow out on the glacier?"


	5. 5: Impressions of the Wicked

Note: on currency.

1 gold = 1 drake, or 1 gold piece

100 drakes = 1 Septim

Example: an item that costs 125 gold costs one and a quarter Septim.

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Chapter 5:

Impressions of the Wicked

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**Three days after Khepri's arrival in Dawnstar**

**West-Northwest of Windward Ruins**

**Balthi the Blade (no relation)**

It was the beginning of spring, which meant one thing for Dawnstar: Balthi was coming to kidnap some of them, so his gang could ransom the poor souls.

Balthi himself never thought about getting caught; he'd been kidnapping fat-assed housewives and bratty children from the town for the past five years. Between the Dwemer sword on his hip, which he knew how to use, and the boys and girls he brought with him to take a few people from the snowberry bushes on the west end of Dawnstar…

Well, the amoral Breton smirked, it would just be another year, another group of people to ransom back to the town. Plus, it looked like there was a new girl in the bushes: a one-armed, long-legged beauty who smiled and laughed with the other women, children and their three guards. The group didn't know Balthi was near, all of them gossiping and playing while knocking snow off the plants and leather sheets that acted as buffers against the north wind.

Soon, he'd be hearing that voice as the tall girl writhed under him. But first, the guards had to die, and the children and women would need to be bundled away – to the Dwemer ruin the rest of the warband was stationed, three miles south – before reinforcements could pursue.

Not an issue, Balthi figured, tapping the hilt of his sword. No one'd managed to catch them in the past five years, and that wasn't likely to change. Jarl Skald was an ice-brain, as the Nords called their village idiots. He'd pay the ransom, the women and children would be sent back – though if some were a little worn out, that was just a matter of course – and the Brass Bows Warband would be fed and paid, as well as keep the other bandit groups out of the Pale.

The last was just good business. Like Imperial taxes.

"Right," Balthi grinned at the nine boys and girls he'd brought, including a mage deserter from the Legion, "We go in, stick the guards, grab who we can and _knock out_ any who make a fuss, then book it back to base." No sense killing anyone; that'd put the Jarl in a mood to murder, rather than pay.

"Don't look like they got much coin on 'em," Salwa, a Redguard, scratched his chin and squinted through the bright winter sun at the bushes, and the people moving in them, "Peasants."

"Doesn't matter how much coin they've got, but whether or not the Jarl can pay to get 'em back before his people riot," rasped their Dunmer rogue, Callidia, with a savage grin; then she licked her lips, "That redhead boy, there, is mine."

"I'll take the black-haired lady with one arm," Balthi claimed, before any of the others could; so what if he got ribbed a little?

They'd see, once those fine pale legs were pointed skyward and shaking. He doubted the Jarl would pay for her, as she was a useless cripple, so Balthi might be able to keep the slender thing until he got tired of her; and if she was ransomed? He'd send her back with a child in her belly, so she wouldn't ever forget him.

It wouldn't be the first time he'd done _that_ either.

A moment later, they broke cover and ran low toward the snowberry fields, weapons drawn and spells ready, the archers taking aim to skewer the guards where they stood.

And then the wasps started stinging.

Nug, the only Orc in the group, was the first, getting one in his ear; the burly greenskin grunted at first, then started screaming as more of the inch-long black pests made their displeasure known, but by then, the entire group, Balthi included, were fighting for their lives against a swirling swarm of black stingers. None of the archers even got a shot off, their hands stung before their shafts could be loosed!

It was over in seconds. Balthi could barely see through his puffed-up eyelids, but he couldn't miss the mage setting himself on fire and preparing a bigger fire spell between his hands; before the moron could set them all ablaze, or Balthi could do more than wonder who the _fuck_ kicked a wasp nest, the wasps pulled away.

And an arrow sprang from the mage's forehead. He crumpled like a dropped sack of potatoes, spells dying before he hit the ground.

"DROP YOUR WEAPONS _NOW!"_ through tears and pain, Balthi found his band surrounded by fifteen pissed off guards brandishing weapons…

**_Hisssss…._**

And he was looking into the horrible face of a drooling _Chaurus Hunter_; if he hadn't spent his past years in a Dwemer ruin, he wouldn't have known what the things were. Balthi could probably take the green-eyed beast…

Its five snarling, snapping brothers, and the swirling, buzzing swarm of wasps that surrounded them? And the guards on top of those?

His sword slipped from his fingers, a defeated moan passing Balthi's lips as his fellows did the same.

How did it happen, Balthi the Blade wondered as he watched Callida's head fall into a basket not even an hour later; how had someone other than the Falmer tamed the Chaurus?!

As he was frog-marched to his – deserving – fate, Balthi saw her, out the corner of his eye. The one-armed woman from the fields.

The largest Hunter, a yellow-eyed horror, was next to her. She was petting it, smiling and blushing at something another woman was saying… one who looked familiar to Balthi… apparently thanking the cripple.

Balthi didn't have time to worry or wonder on the sight, as he was dead seconds later.

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**Ten days after Khepri's arrival in Dawnstar**

**Crags south of the junction near Dawnstar, in a canvas blind**

**Dark Brotherhood Acolyte Fedura**

It was a fine day to die.

The sun was shining, the birds were chirping, and the laughter of children drifted up to Fedura's ears. Over near the ruin, a spriggan was peeking out and examining the butterflies that swarmed amongst the flowers, though it kept a wary distance, as a pair of Chaurus stood between it and the group of village youngsters out for playtime.

The parents were further away, in the company of a Priest of Mara and a small Chaurus Hunter; the adults were preparing what looked to be festival decorations, the Hunter handing small pieces of chitin to the crafters.

The early afternoon was warm, and all the world seemed radiant and peaceful.

Fedura rubbed her hands together to warm them up, and lifted her strung Elven bow. Heart's Day was six days away, hence the feeling of festival present in the voices coming up to her hidden ledge; unfortunately for the soon-to-be revelers, they would be one participant short.

For Fedura would soon send one of their number to Sithis.

Her mark was Khepri, the one-armed woman in the white-blue tunic and fur-lined brown coat, who walked with the children and told them of butterflies, a radiant smile on her face, black hair pulled over her right shoulder in a simple loose braid, a small Chaurus perched on the left clicking its mandibles as small hands scratched its hide.

It was disgusting, to see someone so apparently kind and delightful, consorting with those horrid beasts. But that was why Astrid chose Fedura for this mission; the Dunmer woman _hated_ the Chaurus, nearly as much as the Falmer, due to an incident in her youth, when the fell creatures raided her refugee family.

The payout only sweetened the deal for the Beekeeper's death, pun not intended; sixty Septims for a lone woman's life wasn't unusual, in the case of the Brotherhood's more wealthy clientele, but in the case of Fedura's target…

Planting a knife in the woman's back wouldn't work, nor was killing Khepri in her sleep a viable option; the Beekeeper was constantly in the company of at least one Chaurus, and could stir up all manner of insects, should she require reinforcements. If that was not enough, the local guards were always watching the woman, seeing Khepri as an early warning signal against trouble.

In this case, it mattered not; Fedura was out of Khepri's range. The Beekeeper would only know of her killer's presence when she felt the bite of the arrow. By then, Fedura would be long gone; she had no desire to see what the Chaurus would do, with their master dead. Likely turn on the townsfolk, but that wasn't the assassin's problem. The job came first. If the people of Dawnstar were so stupid as to allow someone to keep those horrid beasts nearby, they deserved whatever happened when that someone died.

Plucking the sheath off the poisoned glass arrowhead, Fedura nocked it as Khepri stood and waved some of the children away to their parents; as the little brats darted off, the woman's gaze turned to smile serenely at the roadside ruin, where the spriggan was staring back stoically. The nature avatar held Khepri's gaze for a moment, before retreating into its lair, a few butterflies perched on its bark-like flesh.

Seeing her chance, Fedura took aim, lining up her shot with Khepri's chest as the woman turned with a visible sigh; the Dunmer assassin whispered, _"Hail Sithis,"_ let her vision tunnel down the shaft as she prepared to fire…

And Khepri looked _straight into Fedura's eyes._

The assassin didn't hesitate; she let the arrow fly.

A glob of Chaurus spit knocked it from the air right as it left her bow.

The next thing Fedura knew, she was lying spread-eagle on her front, arms and legs pinned by strong claws, a chittering _hiss_ and _buzz_ coming from the fell creature that pounced from behind and knocked the assassin from her blind. Turning her face to one side, Fedura's heart stuttered in fear at the sight of the _massive_ Chaurus Hunter with yellow eyes, whose angrily snapping mandibles were _inches_ from her face!

How?! All her observations said Khepri couldn't sense beyond a quarter mile, and Fedura was a _third_ away from the field! But Fedura wasn't done yet; Fergus had taught her the Flame Cloak spell. All she had to do was…

More hisses came from around her, along with the bitter scent of the Chaurus' acidic spit. Fedura was surrounded by ground-bound Chaurus, all of them ready to splatter her with their spit should she make one wrong move. She'd been caught! Her! A Dark Brotherhood assassin-

The crunch of snow came from the direction she'd been facing, a moment ago. Someone was walking toward her.

"Well, Skitter, what have we here?"

Fedura looked. She immediately wished she hadn't.

All the Brotherhood's intelligence said Khepri was a pacifist, a retired, crippled veteran from some other shore, who was more interested in starting her own business and playing with her horrid creatures than fighting.

The woman's cold, calculating eyes, her noble bearing, her determined scowl… it was like looking into the face of a wrathful _Daedra_.

Fedura tried to work her tongue against the false tooth in her mouth; she didn't want to be eaten. But her tongue felt numb, her mouth full of Red Mountain ash, at the fear Khepri's gaze invoked in the Dunmer woman.

Khepri stopped in front of Fedura, ten paces away, the little beast on her shoulder hissing at the prone killer; a click of the woman's tongue silenced the bugs, and then the dark-haired woman looked at Fedura like she was an _ant_.

"I don't suppose you're willing to tell me who sent you, assassin of Sithis?"

Fedura remained silent, still trying to work the tooth free.

"Hm," Khepri knelt, and drew a boot dagger; one of the other beasts pressed Fedura's right hand into the snow until she was forced to splay it, "Well, in that case, I have a message for your group's leader. If you'd be so kind as to pass it along?" And the insect controller knelt next to Fedura's right hand and smiled at the Dunmer.

…she… wasn't going to kill her?

Khepri must've noticed something in the assassin's eyes, for she nodded kindly before her face went flat, her gaze and tone cold as the Void as she spoke, "I dislike killing needlessly, and I am aware that your organization provides a disdainful yet necessary service. Killers for hire have their uses, I know this too well; I may be retired, but I am neither innocent or stupid. However, what you just tried to do was incredibly foolish, assassin. Yet I am in a good mood, so I'll let you live, and in return for your continued life, you will bring a message to the leader of the Dark Brotherhood, whoever they are.

"Tell your leader this, assassin: whatever they are being paid, it is not enough to justify a repeat of this foolishness. Leave me in peace, leave Dawnstar in peace, and let me enjoy my quiet retirement… or I will come out of retirement, briefly, to find your Brotherhood's redoubt, and drown both you and your compatriots on dry land before salting the earth where you lay. Oh, you may run," Khepri held up the steel boot knife, its sharpened edges glinting in the light of the sun, the sound of crickets, cicadas, and bees coming from all around them, drowning out the distant happy laughter of the villagers.

"The Brotherhood may try to run, to hide, but _I will find you_. There is no distant sanctuary, no far-flung waste, no blighted _crevice_, where I cannot find you. The insects of Black Marsh, of Elsewyr, of Valenwood, Morrowind, Summerset and _all the corners of Tamriel_… they are _mine to command_.

"I extend the hand of mercy only once, servant of the Night Mother."

Khepri cut off Fedura's right thumb and index finger, and _fed them to the Chaurus Hunter on her back_. Never did those terrible green eyes break their cold gaze; to the assassin's credit, she only whimpered a little as she pissed herself.

The bloodied knife was held before Fedura's eyes.

"Do not mistake my kindness for pacifism."

The fell woman, who was surely a daughter of Lorkhan or some other eldritch monster, stood and walked back ten paces, then addressed the Chaurus on Fedura's back, "Let her up."

The creature did. Fedura surged to her feet and healed the flesh on her now-useless hand; the Chaurus around her chittered and hissed, clacking claws and drooling their acidic spit.

Except the yellow-eyed one; it simply stared, watching for any hostile move, tense and ready to tear her apart.

"Remember what I told you, and please pass it on, lest your brothers and sisters suffer for your poor memory retention. You have five minutes to get out of my range, assassin." Khepri told her coldly, her terrible servants chittering and buzzing along with her words, "I suggest you start running."

Fedura didn't need to be told twice. She bolted, tears of shame and terror flowing down her face.

She didn't stop running until she arrived at her camp near Fort Fellhammer, three miles away. After crying herself to sleep while cradling her ruined dominant hand, she returned to the Sanctuary.

"She said that, did she?" Astrid's question was clearly rhetorical, but Fedura nodded, not looking up from her ruined hand.

With a sigh, the blonde-haired leader of the Dark Brotherhood rubbed her temple and asked her assembled family, "Does anyone _else_ think they can take Khepri down?"

No one replied for a moment, then Babbette piped up dryly, "I really don't want to test someone with _that_ kind of perception, especially if they've earned the respect of the spriggans. And the Chaurus, of course."

"For how much the client is paying us," scoffed Nazir, folding his arms, "I'd sooner take a Falmer as my wife, than fuck with someone like _that_. Plus I'm allergic to bees."

A humorless chuckle rippled over the gathering, Fedura's hollow voice among them.

In the end, Astrid shrugged, "Well, I'll send our client a demand for more money; they can either pay us five hundred Septims or they can try with the Morag Tong."

"Yeah," laughed Gabrielle, "the Morag Tong aren't about to assassinate someone like _her_ either. Too many chances for good potions ingredients and chitin; more profit in keeping her alive, than carrying out the contract."

"True," nodded Astrid, before she knelt before Fedura; the leader took her Dunmer subordinate's hand, and looked her in the eye, "We're keeping the other sixty Septims, though. Our brave sister needs a new hand."

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**Seventeen days after Khepri's arrival in Dawnstar**

**Dawnstar**

**Glothun the Ghostbeard**

Glothun thought himself a businessman. Arguing that opinion usually got the offender killed.

For ten years, he'd been shaking down merchant vessels and raiding settlements from his base, an island deep in the Sea of Ghosts. His pirate gang were known for not taking more than their share, for allowing ships to leave with minimal casualties; if the captain of Glothun's target was smart, they'd stand down and let his boys and girls take the choicest bits from their holds.

If they weren't smart… well, the Sea of Ghosts was a dangerous place to sail, wasn't it? Ships went missing all the time, what was one more, going down with all hands?

Occasionally, he'd take a job from one of the rich landlubbing merchants living in Skyrim, knock over one of their competitor's cargoes for a nice bonus of food, or coin, or a pretty exotic thing. Not that the last was in short supply; in ten years, Glothun had bedded each of the races of Tamriel, both captured sailors and career slaves. He had a certain fondness for Altmer; for all their haughtiness, they were easy to turn into mewling, wanting sluts. Two were waiting for him at home, readying his things.

Maven Black-Briar sent him a missive through the usual channels, not four days ago; she was willing to pay a Jarl's ransom in goods and gold, if his Ghostbeards raided Dawnstar. There was a caveat - there always was with Maven - the brewer wanted a crippled mage, Khepri the Beekeeper, dead.

Personally, Glothun knew he was getting too old for the life. Every winter, his joints ached more, the vision in his left eye became more clouded, old scars acted up and… well, if he was being honest, the pirate captain was fond of those Altmer girls, Lanelte and Aroliel, and they him. But the past winter wasn't all that great, at the base; gold could only buy things if you were near a city, and Glothun was certain Lanelte was pregnant.

Scalawag though he was, Glothun didn't want the pirate's life forever.

Luckily, that missive from Black-Briar coincided with _another_ letter, from his cousin Shargam; the Zenithar-blessed coot actually bought a damn island, down in Elsewyr! Had a whole farm going, with hands on the fields and trade and could Gloth get his arse down there to spend his last days with family?

Well, how in the sixteen hells could he say no? A tropical island, his two women, and easy work for the rest of his days… and little ones he could teach to sail, maybe?

But Black-Briar already paid, and it was just a little crippled Beekeeper; still, Maven stressed that the woman could control Chaurus – bloody terrifying – but her swarms were limited, and it was rumored she needed line of sight. Easy enough to get around.

The Ghostbeards made their reputation by sending a fog – Jacobi, an old Redguard friend and mage, made it look easy, and the man was looking at a nice spot in southern Morrowind; Glothun would take him on his way to Elsweyr – rolling it out ahead of his ship, _The Green Destiny_. The landing boats would go out, all quiet like, and get the job done. It worked plenty of times, never steered Glothun wrong.

They would use it in Dawnstar, most of the boys and girls would hit the docks, knock over the East Empire trading post, and Glothun would deal with the main target with four volunteers. A quick in and out, and he'd be back with shiny trinkets for his girls in no time.

A pity he'd never see them again.

It started halfway to the shore: the bugs. Ticks and fleas and lice, _everywhere_.

His men and women were screaming before they hit the rocks; Glothun would've screamed too, but he was used to pain, and an Orsimer.

All he wanted, he knew, as ticks burrowed into some _very_ sensitive places on his body, was _Khepri's head_.

As soon as the landing boat hit the rocky shore, he was off the boat and running for the bitch's house; he didn't care that his calves were bleeding badly, or that it felt like something was tearing at his armpits. Glothun was going to fuck that bug-controlling whore with his axe _if it was the last thing he did!_

The guards didn't even stop him, though one was on Khepri's porch. His blonde hair shone in the light of multiple candles, he held a steel mace, and his shield and gear all looked new and in good nick. The man was glaring at Glothun and working his hand over the haft of his mace…

The bitch was on the porch too, sitting there… drinking _tea_.

She looked small, frail, in a cloak of grizzly hide, sitting on a chair and looking right at Glothun with an expression of _tiredness_ and _pity_.

In front of Glothun, on the rocky shore with him, was a massive Chaurus Hunter with yellow eyes, its long forelimbs tearing at the sands as it chittered and hissed in anger; others were waiting in the alleys, but Glothun didn't care. He was dead anyway.

"I don't suppose you'll surrender, sir?" called over Khepri, lifting a steaming cup of tea to her lips, adding, "I will plead for a trial, if you do." The guard scoffed aloud. Glothun scoffed in his mind, as so much of him was bleeding.

He wouldn't plead.

He wouldn't beg.

He knew who and what he was. His fate was the block.

He wasn't a coward.

Glothun would die on his feet, like a man.

He lunged for the Chaurus with a roar of rage and hatred, aiming to take something of Khepri's with him to Malacath.

His overhand blow missed, the Hunter weaving around the strike, pinning his axe in place with a hindleg and jabbing into Glothun's eye with a barbed forelimb.

The Chaurus was faster than Glothun. It didn't miss.


	6. 6: Impressions of the People

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Chapter 6:

Impressions of the People

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**The evening of Khepri's arrival in Dawnstar**

**Hold Guardsman Bori**

The first of Sun's Dawn was a pleasant, quiet day for Bori. Only one drunken fight to break up, Helga's grandson's busted leg was mended easily by that Priest of Mara – may have been a Dunmer, but the Elf was a kind and decent sort, and Bori wasn't one to judge a person by their skin – and the seas were quiet, the air warm. Spring was coming, and so was Heart's Day.

Walking his beat past the home of that 'antique collector' – the Vigilants cleared him, but Bori was still suspicious – the twenty-two summers old guardsman hummed a tune to himself, thinking of those boxes of chocolates behind the counter over at the trading post. His missus, Sillte, had been dropping hints since winter began, whenever little Henrik was busy playing with the other children, and Bori himself wanted to treat his beautiful red-maned lass to something special.

_'But two damn Septims, for ten pieces of chocolate,'_ Bori wasn't an ice-brain by any stretch; oh, he was no scholar, but neither was he stupid. Couldn't run a household if you didn't know your numbers. The chocolates came from Cyrodiil, a special order to all the Holds from the High King, a gift to those who could afford the things. And only four boxes were left, from the ten that originally came in. He was lucky the boxes were only two Septims and not _five_, like they'd be if Bori and his family lived on Solstheim.

Approaching the crags near the Dawnstar Bay's eastward edge, Bori ran a couple numbers in his head; the roof needed new shingles, after that blizzard two weeks ago, and the pantry needed restocking too. With the warmth coming out of the west, however, and the scent of spring beneath the snap of pine and salt, young Bori had a feeling that the coming month might not be as fraught as the previous year.

Figuring he could chance a look at the setting sun – and make sure no bandits were lurking on the beach – Bori made for the crags, signaling at Grimvar and Mette to let them know where he was off to. He kept his body loose and ready, and made sure to give the crags themselves a wide berth; no sense getting shot and spending the night at the chapel, or worse, making Sillte cry with worry.

And then, right as the fiery skies and gleaming glaciers came into view, a person in a grizzly cloak stepped confidently around the lip of the crag.

On instinct, Bori drew his bow and examined the… woman?

She was tall, almost as tall as he was, and her long black curls waved in the light wind; she had a wide mouth, and fair features, though it seemed she hadn't slept in some time. But her eyes… they were the eyes of someone who'd beheld horrors and battles and came out victorious, alive, but scarred. The veterans of the Great War who lived in town held those eyes.

With Magnus setting behind her, Secunda rising over the ridge, she looked like a heroine returned from a forgotten war. Bori couldn't tell what race she was – she wasn't Nord, and was tall as a goldskin, but her hair said Imperial to his sight – but she didn't _seem_ threatening as she flicked her sad eyes over him, taking Bori's measure as much as he did her.

And then a bloody damned _Chaurus Hunter_ leapt into view! It clawed at the beach and hissed at Bori, and then he saw _more_ Chaurus behind the lass.

"Talos _damn it_," he hissed through clenched teeth, drawing an arrow; hopefully, Grimvar and Mette would get their drunk asses over and help him out before he got eaten or sprayed.

The woman's eyes suddenly hardened into _steel_… and she looked to the Hunter, barking with a clearly foreign accent, "You get your buggy butt back in line, young lady!" The Chaurus… wilted before the lady's chiding, looking between Bori and the cloaked woman while chittering; the woman's lips pursed and she shook her head, continuing in a clipped tone, "No, he's not going to hurt me, because _we're_ not here to hurt him. Bentley."

Another Chaurus Hunter, this one bigger than the smaller one, leapt next to its chastened, sulking sister. The woman gave the bulky hunter a satisfied nod and commended, "Good boy."

Meanwhile, Bori wondered just who the _hells_ this woman was, to have _tamed the Chaurus_.

She looked back at him, looking so tired, but determined; she raised her arms, revealing a well-made tunic and a strange sword – _one of her arms was gone at the elbow_.

"Good evening, sir," she began solemnly, but clearly, "I'm sorry about them, they're very protective of me. My name is Khepri. I bring news from the lighthouse up the coast, where I defeated a little over a dozen Falmer and liberated these Chaurus from their clutches. They are mine."

Bori's mind whirled. The lighthouse? Falmer?! The Redguard patriarch who lived that way was just in town! And were those _bodies_ on her sled? Shor, what a mess. And the way she said that – the Chaurus were hers – the way the woman, Khepri, looked into his eyes, made her words clear.

_I will kill you if you harm them._

Bori didn't know much, but the woman said she wasn't in Dawnstar for a fight; he'd take her at her word, for the moment. But he had to say _something_ to her greeting.

"What in Shor's name happened to your arm, lass?"

As the woman's fraught but noble face went dry with unamusement, Bori winced and thanked the Gods he was wearing a full-face helm. He was never going to hear the end of it from the captain, _or_ his missus, he was sure of it.

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_"You expect me to just _allow_ someone who can control Chaurus to live in my Hold?"_

_"They will harm no one, Jarl Skald. I will answer for any crime they commit, and accept responsibility."_

_"...Ravdir! Is there really a beehive in the third tree behind the inn? Check!"_

_"...why would I lie?"_

_"There is, my Jarl! Right where she said!"_

_"Hmph. So long as you make yourself useful, and my people aren't harmed, you may stay in Dawnstar. I may be suspicious, given your claims to knowing little of magic, but I see your eyes, and they ain't the eyes of a witch. You a veteran, Miss Khepri?"_

_"...I am. And I intend to retire. I've had enough war."_

_"I see that too, in your bearing and voice. Here, five Septims, for dealing with those pesky, godless Falmer. Go stay at the inn, and remember-"_

_"Thank you, Jarl Skald. I swear I will not be a burden. Thank you."_

_"Hmph. Off with you, lass, and make sure those Chaurus stay out of sight. Don't want to spook any visitors."_

_"Of course. You'll only see them where and when they are needed. Good evening."_

.

_"Who's that pretty lady, father?"_

_"Her? Oh, Khepri, I think. New in town, a veteran who lost her arm, so don't stare."_

_"Yes, father. But why's she covered in sno - Oh! Father, Chaurus!"_

_"Now, stay calm girl. Those're Khepri's. She trains them, see? Like dogs…"_

Chitter!

_"Get back here, Imp! Push me in a snow drift, will you? Take this – oof!"_

_Father and daughter watched, laughing quietly, as Dawnstar's newest citizen was plastered across the face with a slushball._

Chii-chitter!

_"Pfwah! You wouldn't know what a snow-cone was if it wasn't for me, you little troll! I'll get you!"_

_"Father, what's a snow-cone?"_

_"Not sure, little one," the father replied, subtly wiping a humored tear from his eye, "I'll let the lass get cleaned up and calm down, 'fore asking…"_

.

_"Sure you want wood? I'd think, a warrior like you, you'd want metal."_

_"Aye, something sturdy. Those Chaurus must be a handful."_

_"Ah, maybe later. I want to get used to a prosthetic first, before I take on anything harder to repair, maintain and modify."_

_"Oh. Smart of you. Wumeek, Cristus' husband, said much the same thing. Legion veterans the both of them."_

_"The… two men living near the docks?"_

_"Oh yes," smiled Seren while attaching Khepri's prosthetic, "Cristus saved Wumeek from a Thalmor mage, back in the Great War. Broke half the young ladies' hearts, when they shacked up together."_

_Khepri glanced at Rustleif, who shrugged and grinned, "Fewer men starin' at my wife, and the Divines bless what's in people's hearts, no matter what's between the legs."_

_The black-haired woman blushed softly as Seren chided her husband for being crude._

_In the alley next to the smithy, Skitter listened and learned as her Queen was given a replacement forelimb. Thinking on something, she told her Queen, [**offer**]._

_"It'll take some getting used to," said Seren as Khepri moved her right arm about, getting used to the joints and pulleys that moved her arm as though it were natural, "and you'll have to come in for an adjustment now and again… what is it?" Khepri had stiffened, and was staring off into space._

_"Hm," she blinked and looked as Seren, then smiled apologetically, "Oh, I'm sorry. One of my Chaurus offered their chitin for my prosthetic. I was just explaining that that wasn't viable at the moment. I don't want to hurt them… though one of them _is_ about to change into a Hunter."_

_"Well," Rustleif clapped with a smile, dismissing how odd it was that the slip of a woman could talk to the Chaurus, "if you end up with any chitin, bring it on by. Never got to work with the stuff, but I've wanted to."_

_Khepri nodded, then stood while looking at her arm, "Thank you, both of you. I'll go see what I can do with it, if that's okay?"_

_Not an hour later, Rustleif was hammering the planks of one of the apiaries together – four were planned – when Khepri returned. Her smile was absent, "I think it needs more padding, Rustleif."_

_"Ah, got sore right quick eh?" he tossed his hammer aside with a smile and gestured for her to take a seat on a nearby stump, "Let me just take that off and put a little more… velvet, I think. We've got a bolt somewhere."_

_Seren called over from the grindstone, "I could've sworn I put a good bit of leather on that. What were you doing?"_

_"Just some light training, with the guards," shrugged Khepri while Rustleif worked a buckle; over in the alley, a chitter and buzz sounded, which made the black-haired woman wince, "I may have overdone it a little."_

_"Pain?" asked the Nord smith, receiving a negative sound and headshake, which made him smile, "Well, let's just get this off – SHOR, WOMAN! HOW ARE YOU NOT SCREAMING?!"_

_"Oh. That doesn't look good."_

_Seren dashed over, took one look at Khepri's badly bruised and swollen stump, and snapped, "Chapel. Erandur. Now."_

_"But it doesn't really hurt, can't I just drink a potion-"_

_"**You. Temple. **_**Now.**"

.

_"While I am grateful for your assistance, Miss Khepri, both at the iron mine and around the town, why were you in the snowberry fields?"_

_"Oh, forgive me, my Jarl. As I've told you, I can sense all the insects in town. There were butterfly and moth pupa in the leaves, under the snow. Seeing as these insects also aid in the production of honey-"_

_"I am not stupid, girl! Bees make honey!"_

_"And butterflies help flowers grow, so bees can make more honey."_

_"Prove it."_

_"Very well. With your permission, I will have my Chaurus clear the snow from the edge of your town to the junction. There are many flowers there, and the air is nearly warm enough for the butterflies to emerge from sleep. Between myself and the children, we rescued ninety-seven butterflies. In less than two weeks, my Jarl, your southern fields will be the envy of Skyrim."_

_"…I'll believe it when I see it, woman. All the same, take care; there's a spriggan in that ruin off to the west, and I'm looking forward to the honey you've promised my people. Away with you… Now, Bori. You roused the guards when the Chaurus ran out to deal with that slime, Balthi."_

_"Yes, my Jarl."_

_"Why?"_

_"Because, my Jarl, in spite of her… abilities, Miss Khepri is a vigilant sort who cares for others, and she offered her assistance in defending the town. If her Chaurus get riled up, my Jarl, I take that to mean trouble's afoot."_

_"And when that fledgling Hunter, oh, Imp was it? What do you do when that one's tromping about?"_

_"…make sure she's not hiding a pie under someone's porch, my Jarl."_

_"You jest. I do not."_

_"Neither do I, sir. Edith left a fresh one on the sill yesterday, got nicked, thought one of the children did it. Then Khepri comes walking over with it, the big one, Skitter, dragging Imp along all hangdog-like."_

_"…"_

_"…my Jarl?"_

_"You kick Balthi in the balls for what he did to Metina and Haema?"_

_"Kneed the fucker, my Jarl, then made sure the axe was nice and blunt."_

_"Good. Here, some advance pay. Keep an eye on those Chaurus."_

.

**Thirteen days after Khepri's arrival in Dawnstar**

**Hold Guardsman Bori**

He'd bought the chocolates.

It was the reason Bori couldn't stop smiling to himself as he checked his mace over for nicks – what was left of the Brass Bows were buried near their ruin, as of five days ago – and made sure not to listen too closely as the women of the village did their washing.

Over the past two weeks, there'd not been another bandit raid, and Dawnstar was warmer and quieter than many could easily remember. Oh, there'd been _something_, where Khepri walked off into the woods and came back with an Elven bow, but all she'd done was smile and say, _"I had a stern word with a bad person. They won't come back."_

No one'd found any blood or tracks, but rumor had it her Chaurus found a spy or some such. Good riddance.

Bori's smirk grew as he glanced sidelong at the largest Chaurus, which Khepri was taking to keeping nearby due to her irritable nature; the Chaurus Hunter, Skitter, was irritated, that is, though Bori wasn't interested in the reason.

Not Khepri. The woman, now garbed in a plain green-brown dress, was ducking her head and laughing at something Wumeek was teasing her about, much to the male Argonian and other women's humor, it seemed. Likely something about Heart's Day. Not Bori's concern or business, though his son _had_ started blushing whenever the tall woman's name was mentioned at home. The guardsman decided to have a talk with his Henrik, later.

A hand batted his scale helm, courtesy Lafka, one of his sisters-in-arms, "Don't stare, Bori. Think of your wife and son."

He grunted, but kept smirking, "You wouldn't rescue your comrade from the witch's clutches?"

"Ha!" the female guard scoffed, leaning against a tree and folding her muscular arms, "From the ladies of the town, along with Miss Khepri and Wumeek, and Cristus when he joins in? Sorry, Bori, I love my wife too much to commit suicide over your bulky arse."

Bori sighed and shook his head, then looked to the clay pipe that ran into the woods east of the town, muttering, "By Zenithar, can you believe it?"

"Nay," agreed his partner on 'Beekeeper Watch', as the captains called keeping an eye on Khepri and her Chaurus, "To think, Helga and her girls got that whipped up so fast, three days if it were an hour. If I hadn't seen it, I'd say it were magic."

"It's the Chaurus," Bori muttered, noticing Khepri stiffen slightly out the corner of his eye; no trouble yet, but there might be. He kept his body outwardly loose and calm, but tensed inside, "They get Helga the clay, help mold the pipes, then Khepri and Leigelf make sure it gets installed at that hot spring in the Chaurus den," he gestured at the large wooden basin full of steaming water, surrounded by happy working people, children darting about playing and helping dry clothes in the warm midday sun, though they made sure to steer clear of Skitter's lounging form, "Sure, it's odd, but I'm grateful for clean clothes and hot baths."

To say nothing about a box of fine chocolates hidden in his house, which his Sillte would _surely_ appreciate in three days.

"Hmph," Lafka grunted in agreement, but her shoulders tensed and her stance shifted; Khepri was frowning toward the sea, and the other washers were noticing. Off to another side, Cristus stopped sharpening his greataxe and began to stand from his stump, dark brown beard twitching in suspicion.

Bori was already halfway to the basin when Khepri tossed her half-washed tunic over the side and started toward him, Skitter rising from her crouch with an angry buzz, which the children noticed; Bori increased his pace and whispered to Khepri once she was close enough, "What is it?"

She bit her lip and whispered back, "That man, on the north-east edge of the bay, is praying to an idol in his basement."

Silus? The 'antique collector' was an eccentric, but the Vigilants cleared him; Bori shook his head and whispered, "Khepri, most people have a shrine to the Divines in their-"

"None of the Divines have four arms, or require a Daedric heart," stressed Khepri, her eyes full of worry and rage; Skitter was on her claws, and the children were being rounded up. Cristus was getting closer, "I'm feeling a tattered page too. A hidden shrine behind the wardrobe in his basement."

Bori had already turned around at the mention of 'a page'. His mace was in his hand, "Lafka, get the captain and the others," he heard himself say as he stomped toward the Bay, "and send a rider to the Hall of the Vigilants. We've got a problem."

Slipping between houses and signaling his fellows, Bori was soon walking down the shore of the bay. Out the corner of his eye, he saw his house, between the docks and the smithy. The blonde man focused on Silus' house, a cold fire in his belly.

There was stone crunching behind him. It was Cristus. The big Nord was holding a rope in one hand, his greataxe over one shoulder, deep blue eyes burning with an old flame.

"No killin', Cristus. Let Stendarr's chosen deal with the bastard."

"Aye."

"Plus, don't want your husband gettin' all sad over losin' his bear."

A gruff laugh came out of the man, "Aye. Don't want your wife losin' hers. S'why I'm here."

Imp climbed onto the porch as Bori took the steps two at a time, the little one chittering angrily; Bori sent her a smirk, "Good girl," and rapped the door lightly with his mace, "Silus! A quick word, if you please!"

.

_"How did you know?"_

_"Fleas."_

_"You said you got rid of all the fleas!"_

_"The bees need to eat, as do the wasps guarding the crossroads, and the worms and other insects I use to till soil-"_

_"By the _Nine_, woman. I want you to list every bug you have, and their numbers, and give that list to Banner-Torn by tomorrow morn."_

_"It won't be accurate, my Jarl. The numbers of lesser bugs are fluctuating all the time."_

_"Then how many are you controlling _right now?"

_"…seven hundred and nine bees, my Jarl, are under my direct control, building honeycomb and breeding in preparation of the apiaries. There are six Chaurus Hunters, one Fledgling not yet awoken, and nineteen ground-bound Chaurus of varying size in the woods to the south, as you know. Everything else is automatically set to pollinate the fields to the south or breed for food in secure areas, such as the Chaurus cave. All told, there are roughly two hundred ten thousand insects in Dawnstar, ranging in size from a newborn aphid in the snowberry fields to Skitter."_

_"…has anyone ever told you how terrifying you are, woman?"_

_"Yes, my Jarl. On that note, I've spoken with Helga about the honeypots. The first ten pots will be ready by the twentieth, and all four of the apiaries will be completed and populated by then as well."_

_Jarl Skald sighed; on one hand, he wanted to kick the woman out on her arse. On the other, Keeper Carcette vetted her after dealing with that Imperial rat Silus, and… well, honey._

_"Two things, Miss Khepri: one, Cristus makes mead in his spare time. Talk to him about putting down some bottles."_

_"I've… actually thought about that, my Jarl. The possibilities with Alchemy-"_

_Skald waved his hand, "So long as it doesn't hurt and Frida gives her approval, you can sell whatever you want in my Hold, but I expect some nice, _normal_ mead for us discerning folk," he gave her the Jarl's eye until she nodded, "Second… it seems a vacancy has opened up in my town, and a house is available for ownership…"_

_If he couldn't get rid of her without starting a riot, Skald would make sure Khepri remembered her friends, when it came time for her to move on._

.

_Sillte jumped to her feet when her man came home; she'd been worried sick for her Bori, her love, who'd she'd been with since he saved her from that horker, back when they were teens._

_"Bori! What…" she'd been about to ask about the Vigilants being in town, but she saw her man's gear. It was new, and a _Housecarl's _pin was on his sash. He was smiling, "Bori?"_

_Her man took her in an embrace and kissed her soundly. He told Sillte what'd happened, and what Khepri found in that oddball Silus' house… and how he'd given the Daedra-worshiping bastard what-for, before making sure no one entered until Keeper Carcette arrived._

_The Jarl promoted her man, her brave strong Bori! Dinner that night was warmer and happier than ever, and their Henrik was walking tall when he went to tell the kids playing in the road that his papa was a real knight._

_Before giving her man a reward only she could give him, Sillte thanked the Divines for bringing Khepri to their town and brightening their lives._

.

**Sixteen days after Khepri's arrival in Dawnstar, evening**

**Mythic Dawn Museum Khepri's home**

**Erandur, Priest of Mara**

With a weary sigh, the Mer who'd once been known as Casimir sat on a comfortable chair, one of many that'd been donated to the home's owner by the Dawnstar townsfolk, "By Mara, four weddings in one day," a cup of tea was slid in front of him, courtesy the wooden hand attached to Khepri, "Bless you, dear."

She laughed softly, but empathically, "It must be hard, seeing all the love in the world, but not being able to partake."

"Par- oh, I keep forgetting, you're not from Tamriel," Erandur chuckled and sipped his tea; it was better with honey, and Khepri had proven her honey was better than anyone else's, with those first pots, "Priests to the Divines take vows of abstinence, not chastity. On holy days like these," he gestured to the red lantern-lit town, laughter and sighs rising as Magnus descended to the horizon, "we are allowed to celebrate with the people."

"Hmm," Khepri stirred her tea and smiled thoughtfully, then let out a slight laugh, "I imagine you have quite a few young women inviting you to parties, no?"

"Less than you'd think," smiled back Erandur modestly, "Nords and Dunmer, well…"

"Oil and water, I believe is an analogy," the Priest of Mara nodded and toasted his teacup in agreement, which Khepri seemed pleased by. But the thread of conversation reminded him…

"Honestly, I could say the same."

"Hmm?"

"You're not exactly wanting in admirers. There's Callidus, the boy you took in as your steward, for example," the young man had suffered a blow to the back in youth, from a troll going by the scars; while hard work was impossible for the young man, no one in Dawnstar was better with numbers, Khepri included.

The woman herself laughed an easy laugh, "Oh, _Gods_, no! No, some of the girls working the quicksilver mine dragged him off just after noon, and I have to say," she gave Erandur a knowing look, "he's _certainly_ not wanting for company."

"Oh, the poor boy," chuckled Erandur lightly; only pausing when a delighted yelp came from a few doors away, "But there are others who've come to your door today," she ducked her head, making Erandur wonder what was the trouble, "Khepri?"

There was a small smile on her face, "I… well, I am uncomfortable, sharing myself with others. Not the arm," Khepri clarified, looking into his eyes, but still smiling softly, "I think… it's an artifact of my past, to have only one lover at a time."

Erandur nodded understandably, "I feel much the same… and, well," he grinned at the dark-haired master of insects, "The _scandal_ of it, a Priest of Mara taking part in evening celebrations."

"Hmm," hummed Khepri again, her dark green eyes raking up and down his person before she muttered suggestively, "I won't tell if you won't."

Erandur blinked.

Then he finished his tea.

.

Nearly an hour later saw him dripping sweat and panting, gripping Khepri's hair for leverage as they collided over and over again.

_"Ah-ah-ah-oh-oh-ohh-fuu-**aaaahhnnnnnmmm~**!"_

"_Dibella's **breath – ohhhh~**!"_

.

She rocked on his hips, but seemed shy to do so, turning her right side away.

Erandur gripped her waist and ground himself into her, making Khepri keen quietly, "You are beautiful."

She kissed him. Neither of them spoke much of importance for another hour or so.

.

"And this one?" a pale, lightly-calloused finger traced a white scar on Erandur's right pec, Khepri's head laid on his shoulder as they came down from their most recent session.

"Marauder, near Lake Ilinalta," he replied, running a hand down her back, making her shiver and rub her thighs against his, which brought his heat right back up; the stamina potions Khepri made… well, he wasn't about to complain. Erandur brushed a finger over the scar on her shoulder as she kissed his chest, "And this one?"

"Cross… bow," she hummed, then looked into his eye with a sensual smile, "You are surprisingly good at this, for one who doesn't partake."

He smiled back, stroking the line of her jaw, banishing bitter and distant memories, "We all began as something else."

She hummed against his lips, and they came together one more time.

.

Jurgan, the resident Priest of Arkay, was waiting for him at the chapel the next morning, "Erandur, finally! Come in, man, we've got _bruises_ to tend to, haha!"

Erandur laughed good-naturedly back, and silently thanked every God there was that he'd managed to talk Khepri out of a _seventh_ round. Even magic had its limits, after all.

"And where were you? You weren't at the inn when I looked."

"Oh, I was making a couple house calls. You?"

"Ah. Yes, I, ah, had to make a few." was his fellow priest favoring one leg a little too much? Eh, not Erandur's business.

"Right. Let's get on with it then… ah, Callidus! Hope you're not planning to skive off bee duty just because you're sore."


	7. 7: Khepri's Diary, Sun's Dawn

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Chapter 7:

Khepri's Dirary: Sun's Dawn

.

.

.

**2nd Sun's Dawn, 4E200**

I was irritated.

It wasn't enough that Imp knocked me into a snowdrift the day before – I was moping over the harsh reality of the Aedra and Daedra, revealed in my books – and then engaged me in a snowball fight, before teasing me after I injured myself while training with Dawnstar's guardsmen. She had to _steal_.

"I am very disappointed in you, Imp," I spoke in a clipped voice, walking down the shore of Dawnstar Bay, toward the Frost-Glow clan's slice of the town; the Chaurus in question was being frog-marched at my side by Skitter, who was quite [**irritated**] herself. For the same reason as I was, to no surprise, "When I say 'clean up the town', that does _not_ give you the right to snatch pies off windowsills."

[**queen**] [**apologies**] [**object**] [**interesting**] Imp replied with a buzzing of her wings, her head hanging low in shame.

I huffed and made sure the pie in the crook of my arm wasn't damaged, "Yes, the pie dish _is_ rather well-made, but you still did wrong." Skitter chittered in agreement as we arrived at the home of Helga Frost-Glow, matriarch of the largest clan in Dawnstar; she, the guards, and more than a few of her neighbors and family gave me and the two Hunters rather alarmed looks.

Ignoring their discomfort, I smiled sheepishly, "I'm terribly sorry about Imp," sparing a brief glare to the naughty girl, I explained to the elderly woman, "She really likes shiny objects, and really can't help herself most of the time. I'll make sure she doesn't do this again…"

.

_Khepri's Journal_

_The Pie Incident (and personal thoughts)_

Happily, everything went smoothly. As smoothly as things could have gone, with a clan matriarch trying to push one of her unmarried grandsons in my direction.

I was invited to dinner, as were Skitter and Imp, though Imp's dinner was rather light.

Skyrim cuisine is hearty, but doesn't have much spice. I can deal, until I acquire the connections to import spices from other provinces. A conversation with a few dockworkers indicated that this would be difficult, as political tensions are high in Skyrim: the Aldmeri Dominion is cracking down on worship of the Divine Talos, God of Courage and Heroic Deeds, and 'Heir to the Seat of Sundered Kings' (whatever that means).

So I won't be able to have pepper with my omelets.

I was asked by Sillte Frost-Glow, wife of the first man I met in this town, what I thought of the Dominion, and the Thalmor.

I asked her, in return, if Talos blesses those who pray to him. She said yes.

I then told her: that means the first Emperor of Tamriel is watching over those who are loyal. The Thalmor can bray all they want, but history will ultimately cast them as the villains. If they are fool enough to challenge the Divines, who long watched over the fortunes of Men, Mer and Beastfolk, then they will get what they deserve in due course.

I am now the proud owner of many jars, woven baskets, and several new changes of clothes. And I have been invited to clean the snowberry fields tomorrow.

My only complaint about Skyrim, so far, is that all of the men are very physically fit, and so polite. It's like being in an insect emporium and not being allowed to take or control anything. The men are, to a one, handsome, strong, and well-endowed; the women are equally beautiful, and I have found that most people in Skyrim are married by the age of twenty.

I wish I could remember how old I am.

Another complaint I have is the startling lack of marital aids for sale. Note to Self: See Frida, the apothecary, at your earliest convenience.

.

_3rd Sun's Dawn; the bandits_

Apparently, gangs are a thing here too.

While acquiring butterflies and moth pupae – with the assistance of the children of Dawnstar – ten men and women attempted to assault both myself and the snowberry minders. They were easily dealt with, which made me wonder why they were such a bothersome issue.

It turns out that most Nords are wary of magical abilities. I'm… not sure if what I can do is magic or not. I can't remember where or how I came into my abilities. All I can remember is that I wasn't the only one.

While Jarl Skald was grateful, it seems that most of the townspeople don't like him very much, mainly due to his strong dislike of anything magical or Elven. I also realized that Judas, Twinkie and Bullet have been helping at the iron mine. Several of the bandits that attacked the town are now forced to work there.

Frida's wares are discretely hidden behind the counter of her shop. The blown-glass aid in my possession helps with falling asleep at night.

On the matter of the Divines, I decided to pray to Zenithar – God of Work and Commerce – and Dibella – Goddess of Passion and Affection – for success with my apiaries and to find a man who is agreeable. I don't wish to go through life alone, and, as many of Skyrim's men are both fit and well-behaved, I hope that one day I will find someone who is not off-put by my abilities.

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_7th Sun's Dawn; the first Hunter Fledgling, Erandur_

The apiaries are nearly finished. I think another week will be enough, and then I will populate them.

The insects of the north are ridiculously robust, but that is understandable. The extreme conditions of the Pale necessitate both larger size and brutal hunting methods. Happily, the flies and mosquitoes are all rounded up and being bred in the Chaurus grotto; I use them to lure trolls and bears toward the Hunters, who divvy the food up for the younger Chaurus.

On that note, the largest common Chaurus entered its pupa stage this evening. She gorged two bears, at Skitter's insistence, then became immobile in the grotto. I will explain the details in my Opus on the Chaurus.

I've decided her name will be Sophia, as she is brash. Not arrogant, or foolhardy, but I must dissociate the memory from the name, or I will not be able to move on. I care for Sophia, as do her siblings.

Erandur is a scholarly man Elf. He introduced me to the tea of Tamriel, which is a blocky black substance that is ground and mixed into water. It is still delicious, and we've spent many a snowy evening discussing the continent's history and how magic functions on the porch of Windpeak Inn.

The only spells I have managed thus far are a minor flame spell that is commonly used to start campfires and the like, and Candlelight, a hovering ball of light. Doing either even once is exhausting, but I have been assured that it becomes easier with time.

That I am aware of Erandur's marvelous physique, due to my power's comprehensiveness, helps with my nightly ministrations. While not as endowed as the average Nord, he makes up for this with girth and a tapered head that seems designed to ensure proper seeding of a worthy female. Pity that he is a priest, and off-limits, as he is one of several men who have been admiring my legs when they believe I am not looking.

**.**

**The Chaurus Cycle**

**By Khepri, the Beekeeper **(rough draft, copy to another journal)

Long have the Chaurus been a source of mystery and fear for the people of Skyrim. There are records from the early 2[sup]nd[/sup] Era relating their apparent symbiotic relationship with that most infamous race of lurking horrors, the Falmer. As I can communicate with the Chaurus, I will set aside the theories and suggestions of other authors; my information comes from the Chaurus themselves, and my observations of their behavior in the wild, without Falmer oversight.

Firstly, it must be noted that the Chaurus I studied were, to a one, enslaved and abused from a young age by the Falmer; several of the smallest Chaurus, the size of small dogs, were mutilated. One female, not even a month old, is missing an eye, the result of accidentally biting a Falmer's hand.

What is more, all of the Chaurus, from Skitter the old Hunter to a tiny newborn who has just taken his first breaths, are _aware_ they were mistreated by the Falmer, and hate their oppressors with all their heart. I theorize that Chaurus were once a free race of mildly intelligent animals, like the now-extinct Skyrim Guar. The how and why of their enslavement may have been lost with the Dwemer, though I hold out hope that one of Skyrim's many ruins contains the answer.

What follows is a summary of my discoveries concerning the Chaurus:

**The Hive Mind**: The Chaurus do not dream like the thinking races. Rather, they enter a short hibernation, where their mind is mildly subsumed into a mental network that is formed from the thoughts and emotions of its brothers and sisters. This is the Chaurus Hive Mind, and is both how the Chaurus communicate and learn about the world, as well as how they sleep.

Their antennae are the conduit to this, apparently, latent magical ability. Though Hive Mind is a bit of a misnomer, though appropriate for what it is: common Chaurus are not very developed, mentally, while Hunters are aware of their gender, individuality, and can feel empathy.

Emotions are reflected and distributed in the Hive Mind; images, of what each Chaurus is seeing, usually provide context. It is in this way that the Chaurus learn – though the Falmer tend to mutilate the antennae of some Chaurus (see: Judas – left antennae removed, Imp – both antennae are covered in shallow scars).

Dreams in the Hive Mind are abstract. The Chaurus remain aware of their brothers and sisters while asleep. They "see" the thoughts, emotions and deeds of their siblings while there.

Additionally, it seems that a Chaurus Reaper can influence the thoughts and activities of their brethren through the Hive Mind. Until I discover how a Reaper comes into being, however, I will hold off on any definitive theories regarding the Reapers.

**Diet: **Chaurus do not like human flesh; it seems something forced on them by the Falmer, rather than instinct, as they don't enjoy the taste. Any Chaurus is omnivorous, and can eat a wide variety of foods. The most efficient diet seems to consist of: dense shrubs, roots, trolls, tree bark, wild animals (they are partial to bear and horker), wild berries (observed ingestion of yew flowers; no negative effect) and about two liters of water or snow a day.

**Reproduction and Life Cycle: **Chaurus eggs are formed naturally and unfertilized by all female Chaurus, both common and Hunter. The observed egg sacs are actually constructed by the male, traditionally out of mud and their own waste; the male then gorges themselves on up to 200 lbs (local weight) of food, and undergoes an odd biologic process that turns the matter to a form of nearly-solid, nutrient-rich seed. The male will then shift a belly-plate and insert their phallus into the sac; orgasm is instantaneous, and lasts up to 3 minutes. Multiple males may prepare the same egg sac.

The male(s) will then guard the egg sac and wait for a female to approach; some posturing and mating ritual may occur between the female and the male, but blows between Chaurus are rare, and generally frowned upon.

If a female selects an egg sac, they will mount the sac, extend and insert an ovipositor into the sac, and lay as many as 50 eggs. Feelings received were equated to a five-minute orgasm.

– notation: both ovipositor and phallus impregnation of any humanoid race of Nirn (myself included) is impossible; the ovipositor pierces the egg sac like a spear, with a point of serrated chitin, and the glans of a Chaurus male's penis is a razor-sharp hollow stinger. The coordinating muscle groups have only two speeds, not moving and piercing speed, so micromanagement is impossible.

A common Chaurus will mature in roughly 5 months, going by their growth rate. Once they have matured, the common Chaurus will undergo a change in their body: they will gorge themselves on any food they can find – including other Chaurus, if there isn't any tree bark around – and then enter a deeper hibernation, almost a trance. Other Chaurus will then guard their immobile sibling while the change occurs.

Shortly after this, the outer layers of chitin will slough off, revealing a pupa; from this pupa, a Chaurus Hunter will eventually rise. This was observed in Dawnstar; from gorging on two trolls to breaking out of its pupa, a Chaurus Hunter takes roughly two weeks to develop.

[Skitter has not changed yet, though she is constructing a shell-like pupa, which is made from a vomit-like substance that is secreted in a gland that formed in her stomach. My best guess is that Skitter is a 4-year-old Chaurus Hunter, and that most Chaurus are not allowed to grow that old. I will complete this report once Skitter has entered her next iteration and I have had a chance to study the changes to her body and mind. We both wish she didn't itch so much, however.]

I will not cover the Chaurus "Reaper". There is something unusual about that breed, though I have yet to discover exactly why they are so content to follow the Falmer's orders.

.

_10th Sun's Dawn; the assassin_

I must ensure that no one ever discovers this journal, due to this and other entries.

Today, while teaching the children of the town about butterflies and the differences between species, an assassin attempted to shoot me from the tree-line a third of an Imperial mile (1 Imperial mile = 1.1 km) outside the fields south of the town. Were it not for Skitter's diligence in protecting me – and her restlessness as her inner body begins to become itchy as she changes – I would likely be dead.

They wore the black handprint of the Dark Brotherhood.

Luckily, none of the townsfolk were suspicious of my brief absence, and accepted my excuse on returning with the assassin's bow.

I… did not like having to be… like my former self. But it was necessary. I don't want the people of Dawnstar to suffer because of me, but neither will I let myself be intimidated by a group of hired thugs. If they return, I will hold true to my promise.

I am rather curious as to who hired them, however, or what I did to invoke someone's ire to the point of attempted murder.

The apiaries are complete. I just need somewhere out of the way – and not near the Chaurus grotto – to place them. I prayed to Zenithar once more to this effect. No luck with my prayer to Dibella, thus far, but I remain patient.

Twinkie and Bullet are well-liked by the miners, and all of my Chaurus are quickly being accepted by the people of Dawnstar; Skitter is seen as my personal guard, and Imp's antics are often related with humor and song at the Inn. Judas seems to have ingrained himself at the Barracks, and joins my spars with the Hold guards every day. If Skitter is busy with hunting or patrolling south of the town, Bentley usually chitters and buzzes at my side.

Helga Frost-Glow has promised fifty pots by the second week of First Seed, for the honey, along with twenty pots in two weeks' time for the first batch. Accompanying this are six shawls for the Hunters, with their names embroidered on; they are made to be worn about the Chaurus' necks, and hang loosely. All six Hunters delighted at these gifts from the ladies of Frost-Glow and the dockworkers' families.

I feel wanted here…

I spoke with Helga about a certain project, which will allow Dawnstar to have a steady supply of hot water. The project will begin in the morning.

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_14th Sun's Dawn; I have a house!_

It appears that the antique collector was actually a worshipper of the Daedric Prince Mehrunes Dagon, Lord of Destruction and Change; I had long suspected this allegiance since reading of the Mythic Dawn and their part in the Oblivion Crisis, an event which ended nearly 200 years ago. The anniversary is on the 15[sup]th[/sup] of Evening Star, but enough about history.

I have been granted the house the treasonous swine lived in! By the Jarl, no less! Words cannot give voice to my excitement, or the outpouring of gifts that have come my way in the form of furniture and décor!

Hold Guardsman Bori, the first person I met on arriving in Dawnstar, was the one who knocked Silus out with the edge of his shield; he was assisted in restraining the asshole by Cristus, a large Nord who fought in the Legion with his husband, Wumeek. Imp supervised the takedown and assisted in keeping the crowds at bay until the Vigilants could arrive and cleanse the house.

Now it has been cleansed, and it is mine! Skitter is especially happy, as she can fit under the porch and keep watch while l sleep; this is good, as she's becoming more and more irritable as the days go by.

The house is in two levels: the upstairs is the common area, where cooking, eating, and socializing take place. I've added a bed for a young man who has placed himself in my service; Callidus is an orphan who has been helping with the books at the East Empire Company trading post.

Downstairs is my personal quarters: a curtained bed nook – cozy and warm – a full bath and toilet – I have discreetly added a hot water pipe, so I can have warm baths – two wardrobes, and a bar. There is also an alcove, where Silus had his little shrine.

I've put a statuette of Dibella, my amulet of Zenithar, and a disk of marble with nine indents in the alcove, and covered it with a Dawnstar flag.

The walls are good stone, and the wood is well insulated. I have a home…

I HAVE A HOME!

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_19th Sun's Dawn; pirates, crab studies, Heart's Day_

Why are bandits so moronic? A pirate gang, the infamous Ghostbeards, tried to attack the town. It didn't go well for them.

For some reason, their leader seemed to take exception to me in particular. Probably because it was due to my powers that his gang, and his ship, were captured by Dawnstar's finest.

Skitter took exception to his approaching my house, as did Bori, who seems to have appointed himself as Callidus' and my personal guard. I am touched by this, and his wife's cooking. Their son, Henrik, seems rather taken with me, likely due to my hair.

The Ghostbeards swung from the gibbets, and the Jarl seems rather happy with the contents of the ship's hold, as well as the ship itself.

My days are now spent between maintaining the newly-installed apiaries, and reading on the deck of the _Dawnsprite_, helping guide crab into the nets. I've also discovered mudcrab, which are really useful for my alchemy studies.

Ah, in the excitement of acquiring a house of my own, I admit that I've neglected this journal. I have been studying alchemy under Frida; it's much easier than preforming other types of magic, as I haven't managed anything more spectacular than a pitiful cluster of embers.

Though I did enjoy my Heart's Day celebrations. The good thing about having stone walls around my bedroom: I can be as loud as I wish. Erandur clearly enjoyed himself too. Hopefully, I'll find someone who can make me orgasm more than three times in six sessions keep up with my stamina. Though my partner for the evening was quite passionate and skilled in his lovemaking, I can't see myself settling down with him.

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_23rd Sun's Dawn_

Skitter is about to change. I can feel it. She's been vomiting some kind of material for hours now, preparing a large chrysalis to undergo her metamorphosis. To wit, I've had Callidus acquire as much paper and ink as possible, so I might record every aspect of this historic moment.

I imagine it will be tomorrow. I can hardly wait.


	8. 8: The College Arrives

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Chapter 8:

The College Arrives

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I'd just finished my morning routine, and had just put my freshly cleaned dildo back in its velvet-lined box with a smile, when I noticed three people arriving in town.

Out of habit - and to make sure no new visitors panicked due to being greeted by a 120-pound insect - I checked where the Chaurus were: Skitter was in her newly-made den near the grotto, seething in [**annoyance**] as she ate half a troll; Bullet and Twinkie were in the iron mine, assisting with moving waste rock to the entrance where it could be carted away; Judas and Bentley were teaching the newborns, all twelve of them, what they could and couldn't eat; most of the remaining common Chaurus were making sure the egg sacs were safe, or were collecting tree bark for the larder.

Sophia was behind my house, [**insisting**] to Imp that they keep working on clearing snow off the spot where I planned to build a greenhouse – so the bees wouldn't have to go as far to collect nectar. Imp just wanted to play, and was [**interested**] in the new arrivals.

Smiling fondly at the feelings of [**determination**] and [**happiness**] coming from my chitinous friends, I reached out with my power and backed up Sophia's [**insistence**] with my own. Imp became grumpy, while Sophia turned up the smug and kept using her forelimbs to clear last night's snow from the rough foundation some of Helga's sons laid two days ago.

Just another day in Dawnstar, my new home. The thought still brought a bright warmth of happiness in my chest; I had a home!

Staying at the inn just wasn't the same as having a space of my own; there, I needed to keep my activities quiet, both regarding my bees – which could get quite loud when I had them swarm out to collect pollen and nectar – as well as my nightly pleasures. The slender, ribbed tool of blue glass was, thus far, my favorite purchase since arriving in Dawnstar; it was almost _too_ good at its purpose, seeing as I had to bite my pillow quite often, so the other patrons of the Windpeak wouldn't be treated to my passionate keening.

Not so in my new house. Due to the insulation and the thick stone walls, I could moan and howl in ecstasy with no one the wiser. Pity that everyone who tickled my fancy was off-put by my abilities.

I could still look, however. The previous night saw me fantasizing about eight of the more well-endowed sailors of the _Dawnsprite_ taking me below deck, binding me to a wooden beam, and taking turns with me until I was unable to walk. My 'little friend' helped things along splendidly; so much so, I forgot to clean up before passing out. Good thing I had running water and fresh sheets, or Callidus would get all embarrassed and scandalized by the sight of the stains.

Not that he had any room to talk, as he'd been shacking up with one of the female Brass Bows that'd been pardoned due to being more indentured servant than bandit; she was now working at the quicksilver mine, and the pair were meeting every other night since Heart's Day.

I made a mental note to remind the dockworkers to check the warehouse after hours, get my steward to pull both his heads in before he got the Breton woman, Liora, pregnant.

Musings on my lack of a love life completed, I turned my power to the rest of Dawnstar, dressing in a plain brown tunic and pants with matching boots as I examined my wider home.

It was early, but the town was already bustling with activity; the bakers were delivering their first batches to the mines and the docks, the sailors at the docks going about their duties, and the kiln at Hilda's house was already puffing smoke as the elderly master potter oversaw the making of the honey jars and artisan orders, the latter of which would be delivered all across Skyrim.

Making sure my prosthetic was secure on my arm, and that the hand was adjusted for eating breakfast, I decided to join the bustle of activity. No rest for the wicked and all that, I thought, my smile becoming bright as Magnus.

As I went upstairs – where Callidus was waiting with a full breakfast for us both – I examined the new arrivals as they stopped and admired the town of Dawnstar, with its horseshoe shape and thatched roofs, its delighted atmosphere and clean streets.

Two were wearing fur cloaks over robes, and were both Elves. One was shorter, and was carrying more bags than the taller, who was deferring to the third member on where to go in the town. That third person felt taller than me, and was – I blushed brightly as I entered the common room of my house.

_'Dibella preserve me and give me patience,'_ I thought, eyes going wide. The third member was _definitely_ male, muscular, and – I saw him though Judas' eyes as the trio made their way toward the inn – a quite handsome if rugged young man in heavy armor, wielding an impressive greatsword.

And no, he was _not_ compensating for _anything_.

"Good morning, Miss," ah, Callidus. I favored my steward with a smile; he was already sitting at the dining table, dressed in a green and brown outfit, and his breakfast was half finished. My smile vanished, however, when I spotted the small stack of letters next to his plate; he chuckled sheepishly, "Orders, I think, or requests for specialty products."

"I am not a factory," I sighed, seating myself and reaching toward my fork; I was hungry, and business could wait.

Such were the downsides of being myself, I suppose.

Making honey in Dawnstar, apparently, had caused a sensation throughout Skyrim. I was, by no intention of my own, now slightly famous for my actions; due to this, more than a few people in high places had taken notice. I'd expected that, had made preparations for being questioned about my past…

Instead, people had been contacting me, asking when the first pots would be available for sale; how much would they be; would I be making beeswax products; did I take advance orders; was there a catalog they could peruse so they knew what kinds of honey I offered; was I averse to making mead?

That last one was the most common.

Halfway through my omelet, I swallowed and remarked to Callidus, who was frowning at a letter bearing the seal of Markarth, "I don't understand it. I'm just one beekeeper, not Honeyside." That place, I found, made a good _half_ of the honey in Skyrim.

"Honeyside doesn't do artisanal honey, Miss Khepri," my steward replied soothingly, then folded the letter and tossed it in the fire. Callidus shook his head at my questioning expression, "It was an offer to move you to Markarth. They offered ten Septims."

I huffed at the utterly insulting offer, then smiled, "Well, at least you spared me having to read them carrying on about how great they are. Again," he laughed, and we continued eating.

Though I was still working; the bees, in their four apiaries, had wax aplenty, and the shed behind my house held what remained of the first ten pots of honey. There were five left, and enough honey in the apiary for another _thirty_.

I'd been working the bees in two shifts, during the day; eight hundred workers would collect nectar from the southern fields, store it, then eat some fleas and rest while the next shift went out to collect from the field near the spriggan's ruin. All told, between the four apiaries, I had 1,922 bees, not counting the four queens, and approximately twenty pounds of honeycomb.

The spriggans… I wondered about them. They existed in my power's area of influence, but not as something I could control. More an area of high pressure, a thickness in my range that I couldn't understand or take hold of. Not that I would, of course; I could _feel_ something about them, as though the feminine nature avatar was seeing my works and approving of them.

The bounty that came to Dawnstar's fields was likely her doing, no doubt, as the guards had seen the spriggan walking the fields at night.

Noticing that the armored hunk was waiting outside the inn, and the two women he'd been escorting were talking with Erandur – who always ate his meals at the Windpeak – I hummed and told Callidus, "We'll have a lot of beeswax, once the combs are removed and the hives are rotated. Once done, we'll have enough for candles and some other wax products."

He blinked his brown eyes at me, but rallied quickly, passing me a folded piece of paper covered in sketches that was hidden under the letters, "I, ah, thought you'd say that, Miss. I've made a rough catalog, for when we're ready."

I smiled brightly and looked it over, stopping Imp from running off with a mental twitch; I was getting better at noticing when she wanted to go unseen – she meshed her mind with the Hive Mind to avoid my sight – which was good. No sense alerting the visitors, "You put down that I'm making Alchemical mead."

It was a project that I didn't expect to work, until Frida, with a knowing smirk, told me that she'd done such a thing several times in her youth… much to her late husband's delight.

As such, I'd used half of the first batch of honey to lay down seven barrels of mead; one ordinary, two flavored – snowberry and blackberry – while the remaining four were alchemical: one to heal, one to replenish magicka, one to renew a person's vigor – I was looking forward to that one; the Chaurus were quite a handful, with twenty commons and seven Hunters to care for – and, finally, a mead that cured diseases.

If everything went well, I'd have two bottles from each barrel; Bori, and several of Dawnstar's guards, agreed to try them out.

I prayed every night for those barrels to succeed. That project hinged on my greater plans for wealth and security, and if it succeeded…

"I-It's just a rough draft, Miss Khepri," blushed my steward, rubbing his jaw-length blonde hair, "For when you've got better equipment to work with."

I smiled at him, and handed the page back, "I'm not mad, Callidus. And you can say it: I won't be able to meet these demands," I waved my hand at the letters with a slight frown, "until I have a better climate to work in." Callidus nodded sadly in agreement, but still hummed in delight as he bit into his toast, which had honey spread on it.

The first pots of Dawnstar honey – officially "Khepri's Dawn Honey", according to the _Iceberg Quarterly_ – while delicious, were more than a bit tangy on the tongue, due to the wide variety of flowers that went into making them. Everyone insisted that the sweetness more than made up for it, and the flowery tones as well, but I knew I could do better.

But to do better, I needed a better environment; the Pale wasn't meant for beekeeping.

Happily, I had options in the other Holds, especially Whiterun and Falkreath. But to take advantage of those options, I needed to succeed in Dawnstar. And I would, Zenithar willing.

So I smiled and finished my breakfast, washing it down with a glass of water. There was work to be done…

Bori was leading the two robed people up the Bay, toward my house, the – _deliciously _– hunky Nordic warrior following at a discrete distance. As they approached, I felt Skitter shiver in [**anger**] at the itchiness under her chitin. She was going to start changing soon, and I had visitors…

Not a problem. I could deal.

"Callidus, is everything prepared for observing Skitter's molt?" my steward nodded, so I rose and helped him stand, telling him, "We'll head over after meeting some visitors."

"Trouble?" he frowned, then smirked, "Oh, wait, if there was trouble, trouble would be screaming."

I laughed lightly as Callidus gathered the papers, journals and charcoal, then shrugged on my cloak and made for the door, a small smile on my face as I prepared to greet the new arrivals.

Who knew retirement would see me so _busy?_

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Farkas of the Companions kept his face carefully neutral as he loped along behind his employer, an Elven mage from the College of Winterhold. He was on the clock, and, in spite of the reason the two Elves were in Dawnstar, he didn't feel like rubbing shoulders with some beekeeper.

Instead, the young Nord kept his eyes peeled, looking for threats. Rumor had it that the beekeeper trained some Chaurus, who'd been guarding the town. Farkas had seen one, over near the mine, but it darted back into the depths before he could get a good look at it.

When he'd taken the job, Farkas thought it was going to be a walk-over; just escort a couple mages up through the forests of the southern Pale, get them to Dawnstar, then keep an eye on them until their business was concluded. Sure, they used magic, but they were… friendly, Farkas supposed. Especially the young Dark Elf girl.

He did wish, more than once while on the road, that the pair weren't so obsessed with their spells. The goldskin, Faralda or something, kept testing the Dark Elf on what she'd learned.

At least none of the magic was aimed at him, which was a step up from clubbing some bandits.

Farkas had been to Dawnstar before; it was only a small step up from Morthal, smell-wise, and a target for both bandit and pirate raids. Bright side: the mead was better than Markarth's or Iverstead's, and the women were _much_ easier on the eyes than most other Hold capitals.

He hadn't been expecting everything to be so _different_.

The first thing was the fields of flowers and snowberries spreading south of the town, all the way to that tumbled ruin on the roadside… where a Spriggan Earth Mother was being entertained by a common spriggan. Both moved further away when they spotted Farkas and his charges, which was a relief.

Then the guards greeted them with: "Welcome to Dawnstar, cleanest beds in Skyrim!"

The upshot was that the beekeeper, Kep-Ree or something, got rid of all the bedbugs, fleas, lice, ticks and weevils. Plus, no flies or mosquitos were about.

The streets were cleaner, and the people seemed a lot happier than the last time Farkas came to the town, when Skjor and he dealt with some corpse-humping kidnapper last Frostfall.

If Farkas were a scholar – like his drunk of a little brother – he might've been more curious about the beekeeper.

Farkas didn't much care. He'd get the witch's measure when he saw her.

Presently, the Housecarl who'd been leading them stopped next to a set of steps, the last house before the bay turned into the coast of the sea. Before that worthy could open his mouth, the door opened; the blonde-haired knight of the Hold's moustached lips twitched in humor as he looked over his shoulder, "And here she is."

Farkas was close enough to make out a small crack on the door, so he got a good view of the girl as she left the house and stepped outside, her pretty face smiling warmly, if a bit shyly, at her visitors. A grizzly-hide cloak was over her shoulders, her right forearm was a plain wooden prosthetic, and the brown tunic she wore flattered her tall form.

What really drew Farkas' attention was her hair, a curly mane of black that framed her face and fell about her shoulders like black water.

"Miss Khepri," the Housecarl's voice brought Farkas' attention back to the present, "Allow me to introduce Master Faralda and Neophyte Brelyna Maryon of the College of Winterhold," both the Elves bowed respectfully as the woman they were here to see walked down the stairs, "and their hired bodyguard, Farkas of the Companions."

Farkas nodded curtly and grunted.

The woman, Khepri, smiled warmly and greeted them all, "It's a pleasure to meet you. I am Khepri the Beekeeper. How may I help you?"

And they were off, both the mages telling the slightly flustered woman that they were in Dawnstar to interview her, and maybe learn about the spell she used to control insects. Farkas was already bored, but kept looking around – a pair of Chaurus Hunters were looking around a corner of the house next to Khepri's.

Farkas kept an eye on them, but something Khepri said managed to make its way to his ears.

"…you see, I don't really know any magic, unless you count making potions."

One of the Hunters looked like it was going to try leaving the alley – it had a shawl around its shoulders, with a name on it: Imp – but the smaller Hunter poked it in the side and chittered quietly.

"But…" the High Elf looked lost, "but then, how do you do what you do?"

Farkas was a little interested himself; both the Chaurus nearby were acting like rascally pups, to his eyes.

Khepri shrugged and continued as a blonde-haired lad left her house, carrying several satchels filled with papers and books; her servant or something, "It's an entirely mental discipline. I give orders to the insects, and they follow them. I'm not _completely _certain how it works, see, and – Imp, Sophia, _what_ are you two doing?"

The pair of Chaurus came rolling out from the alley, tussling and hissing; both stopped as Khepri snapped at them, the two Hunters staring at their master as both the College girls chuckled with the Housecarl.

"Ah, leave em alone," drawled Farkas, smirking at the two creatures – whose relatives he'd killed more than once, in his duties, "They were just playin', I think."

"Hmph," the black-haired lass tilted her head to one side and folded her arms, which meant she had a decent prosthetic, Farkas figured, "If they have time to play, they have time to finish clearing the greenhouse foundations," ah. Farkas understood, and folded his own arms as the smaller Hunter tried chittering something at Khepri, something the larger one, Imp, didn't like, as the bigger one tried to shove the smaller.

And stopped suddenly, before reversing course.

"And Imp, you should know better than to shove your little sister. Back to work you two, chop-chop, or no horker stew for lunch," both the Chaurus scrambled behind Khepri's house, their claws clattering the whole way as Farkas chuckled at their antics.

Khepri seemed to like his chuckle, if the smile and up-down glance she sent him were any indication.

It was Faralda who picked up on what Farkas had seen, and gushed, "Ah, I see now. You can mentally influence their actions. How far does it go? Can you-"

Thankfully, Khepri stopped the Elf from carrying on with a chuckle and a raised hand, "Please, there will be time to explain. You've actually caught me as I was about to observe one of the Chaurus going through a third change. You may accompany me, and I'll explain as we walk."

That went over well, and moments later Farkas was loping after the three chattering ladies. As their words were too quick to follow, he glanced at the Housecarl walking beside him… and asked a question that'd been bothering him, "Bori, right?"

"Aye."

"She control spiders too?"

The young man chuckled, "Aye. She keeps the Frostbites out of town," he pointed at the crags, "Little cave, high up. Apparently she's trying to harvest their webs for something-or-other. If it's anything like the honey, though…"

Farkas hummed and relaxed slightly. So long as she kept the spiders away from him…

The young Werewolf's eyes landed on the beekeeper's backside, which he could tell was swaying a bit under that cloak, as she and the young man who was carrying her things explained the workings behind the apiaries they'd just passed. Both the mages looked very distracted, so…

"That her husband or something?"

"Nah. That's Callidus, her steward," Bori shook his head, "Poor girl. Most of the lads around here don't want to annoy the Chaurus, if you follow me."

Farkas grunted, then looked over Khepri's glossy black mane.

She wasn't a witch or a mage, and quite easy on the eyes. He wondered if she needed anything delivered or killed; after all, she was running a business, and business in Skyrim could be brutal.

And Farkas knew _all about _brutal.

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He was looking at my ass, and apparently liked what he saw.

My smile grew as I explained the nuances of the Chaurus Hive Mind to a nodding, wide-eyed Faralda as we walked into the forest, heading for Skitter's den.

_'I wonder if I can… convince… him to deliver the honey pots reserved for the Jarls…'_

Musings for another time, alas. Skitter was about to change.


	9. 9: The Third Iteration

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Chapter 9:

The Third Iteration

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On our arrival at the Chaurus Grotto, where Bentley was keeping an eye on things – Judas had left on his daily patrol of the cliffs – several of the newborns scuttled over to us, [**curious**] about the new people walking with their Queen.

The reactions of the College mages were very different.

Master Faralda stiffened and, in reflex, prepared a fire spell, which set Bentley on edge; knowing Skitter was both nearby and aware of our presence, I moved between the Chaurus and the mage, speaking sternly, "You have nothing to worry about, Miss Faralda. These little ones won't attack, but the Hunters will take offense if you do… as will I." And I smiled down at the little one from Frostflow, who rubbed himself against my right boot in [**happiness**], the feeling echoed through the little one's minds.

Happily, Faralda lowered her hand, though it was clearly hesitant; she still apologized, "Ah… forgive me, Miss Khepri. I've never seen so many Chaurus who didn't attack on sight," and she eyed Bentley warily before gazing curiously at the dark green boys and girls skittering about our feet.

Brelyna Maryon, on the other hand, let out a gleeful sound and removed a sketchpad from her bag, "Oh! They're so _little!_" she glanced at Bentley, who only gave her a brief glance before returning to watching the Dunmer girl's mentor; Brelyna smiled over at me, "Is it okay if I sketch them?"

"Of course!" I replied with a smile of my own, using my prosthetic arm to pick up the little one who'd been partly blinded by the Falmer; if the blasted creatures ever darkened my sight again, they would live long enough to regret their deeds against the Chaurus before I slew them.

Putting the thought aside, I ignored Bori and Companion Farkas' quiet conversation and beckoned to Farlada, who seemed a little overwhelmed by the tides of [**curious**] and [**delighted**] chitin swarming about my feet, "Don't be shy, now. They won't harm you," to emphasize this – and stop the little ones from tickling my legs – I scooped some of the wood shavings and snowberries from my bag pocket and scattered them closer to Brelyna. The young Chaurus chittered and scurried to the snack, Bentley moving closer to make sure none of them hurt each other.

"So they _do_ eat wood," Faralda sounded amazed, which humored me. I'd explained, in brief, the diet and social structure of the Chaurus while we walked from my house, but to see it in person was clearly another matter entirely.

The Altmer woman noticed my quirked lip and approached with a sheepish smile, though it quickly turned to concern on seeing the young Chaurus on my wooden arm, "A scar?"

The scar in question was a narrow groove on the left side of the Chaurus' poor face, straight through the cluster of eyes on that side; the dear girl was still rambunctious, and clicked her mandibles in a [**hello**] as Faralda came close.

I ignored the woman's flinch and nodded, "Yes. Many of the poor things suffered under the Falmer's… attentions," was a nice way of putting what it. With her permission, I took Faralda's hesitant hand and guided it closer so she might feel the edges of the scar, warning, "Don't touch the scar itself. She's still healing, though she won't regain her eyes for a few molts yet."

The Elven woman was clearly becoming more overwhelmed by the moment, her gentle touch moving from the scar to the legs and body of the little girl, who turned over in my arm and batted at Faralda's questing fingers like a [**playful**] cat. A short, disbelieving laugh left the woman's lips before she spoke, "They're… not like I imagined, or like those I've faced in the past. Is this your doing? Are you controlling their actions?"

I shook my head the negative, smiling over at the playing little ones near Brelyna, who was multitasking, firing question after question at a slightly flustered Callidus without looking up from her sketchpad; Bentley simply observed from a distance, while the Chaurus still in the Grotto… were in the process of breeding.

I ignored the last with practiced aplomb and elaborated to Faralda, "Not actively. What you're seeing is how the Chaurus have learned to behave outside of captivity; so long as you don't enter their nests or attack them, they're willing to live and let live," I absentmindedly used my fingers to check the leg-joints of the bundle of cute chitin in my arms while continuing to speak, "Before I came along and freed them, not a single one of the Chaurus knew what the outside world was like, or that there was anything in their future but being slaughtered for material and food by the Falmer, who they hate."

"They hate them?" Faralda seemed surprised, and from the furrowing of Farkas' brow nearby, so was he; I reminded myself that they didn't have my abilities, or saw the Chaurus like I did.

I still nodded curtly, lips pursed, "Yes. Some of the larger ground-bound Chaurus have worse scars, from flails and knives; given that most ground-bound have the mentality of children, the Falmer didn't endear themselves at all to the little ones. As for the Hunters, all of them save Sophia, who is the youngest fledgling, have at least one scar or mutilation, and… well," I smiled ruefully, not wanting to darken the light of day with talk of the Reaper, and Skitter was becoming more [**irritated**] with each passing second, so I cut my lecture short, "I have copious notes, back at my house, and one of the Chaurus is about to enter the next phase of her life. I'll be happy to let you look over my research, and sit for an interview, if that's agreeable?"

This offer went over very well and, after I complimented Miss Brelyna on her sketching and offering a few of my own for her to copy, we made our way north along the ridge for a few minutes. Skitter's den was set apart from the Grotto, more due to her large size than any favoritism or segregation.

That, and her instincts were telling her to cannibalize her brothers and sisters, on top of razing the surrounding forest and nearby town, to fuel her change. Obviously, I wasn't about to let that happen.

While we walked, I explained a theory of mine to the two mages, "It's well-known and documented that a common Chaurus becomes a Hunter after a time, but what comes after the Hunter? Is there another evolution? If so, what is it? Happily," I smiled at the visitors and stroked the little one's back as Skitter let out a mental shriek of [**anger**] at the itching under her chitin, "we are about to find out what this third iteration is like.

"I have notes on the process Skitter, the oldest Chaurus Hunter in the herd, has gone through to prepare for this change. In the interest of advancing the study of the Chaurus, I'll allow you to copy the notes after lunch," I added with a smile to Brelyna, who still diligently recorded my words in another journal; then my smile faded, "I caution you all, however: do not go past the rope I've put in place. This change is very uncomfortable for Skitter, and my control over her when she's like this is tenuous at best. Are there any questions before we approach?"

Brelyna did, asking innocently, "I've noticed you haven't mentioned the Reapers," both Farkas and Faralda nodded, likely for different reasons, given their professions, "What can you tell us about them?"

I considered for a moment, shooed the little one back to the Grotto, and replied slowly, "They're… not the same as other Chaurus. The only Reaper I've encountered was willingly serving the Falmer; it used the Hive Mind to ensure the compliance of the Hunters, who the common Chaurus take their cues from. Whether this is the exception or the norm," I shrugged, and admitted with a small smile, "Well, I'm retired from battle, and have a business to establish. Any field research will have to wait until my livelihood is secure, and even then, I'll likely hire an escort and guide."

An escort in the form of some well-muscled and -mannered hunk who'll ensure my tent is warm and comfortable while engaging in said research. Not that I'll speak such things out loud.

"Smart of you," nodded the hunk in question, with his arms folded; I sent the ruggedly handsome warrior a questioning look, and he replied airily, "Some folk in your place don't think about the risks and hare off to the nearest ruin without preparing themselves or hiring help. Too impatient. If they're lucky, they either get killed or someone gets them out before things get rough."

Ah. And by Faralda's wincing nod, that's a rather common occurrence among dungeon delvers. Which makes me worry for the common sense of Skyrim's population; fortunately, most of the people I've met are more cautious than that.

Still, I smile at the tall, built man, "Thank you for the compliment, then," he huffs in reply, cheeks coloring slightly – I make a mental note to give him some mead later – and I ask if there are any further questions.

None are forthcoming, so I lead them to the overhang where Skitter resided.

It used to be the den of a Pale Grizzly; the beast ran afoul my Chaurus when it decided that the Grotto was a new food source, not realizing it was the other way around.

A mound of earth rose on the northward side, to keep the wind out, and a burrowed hole from the Grotto brought humid air to the small redoubt. Just outside the mound was a series of stakes, a rope of Frostbite Spider-silk providing a visible boundary; small signs, warning against intruders, hung from the silk.

Inside the cave was Skitter, who hissed in [**irritation**] at the visitors from her perch on the side of her chrysalis, which was shaped about the same as a common-to-Hunter pupa, except much larger and of a darker yellow.

"Hello, Skitter," I greeted my big, loyal girl, sending as much comfort and caring as I could into the Hive Mind; she buzzed her big wings with [**annoyance**] and [**discomfort**], then turned to vomit more ichor into her chrysalis. The frost troll from earlier still wasn't finished, half the mutilated corpse lying next to the big Hunter's nest, deeper into the den.

With a sigh, I turned to the visitors… who, save Farkas, were hanging back slightly with surprise and fear in their gazes; Callidus was closer to me and seemed confused by the mages' reaction, and Bori was calmly staying near Farkas with one hand on his mace, ready in case Skitter decided to attack us.

Not that Farkas seemed calm. His eyes were wide as he looked upon Skitter, and I could tell that he was fighting against drawing his sword, "Ysgramor's _fists_, it's huge."

I nodded and looked at Skitter myself, keeping my posture calm and relaxed, "She, and yes. Skitter was already quite large when I found her. From what I understand, most Chaurus Hunters are culled and used for armor and weapons before they get this big."

"Makes sense," nodded the Companion, stepping a little closer, but keeping himself ready for an unexpected attack; Faralda and Brelyna were moving a little closer as well, at Callidus' beckoning. Farkas elaborated at my prompting, "Bigger Hunters are faster, harder to take down, even for trained warriors. Didn't know they could change into something else, though."

"The Falmer don't let them. The ones in Frostflow would've turned her into a table, if I hadn't shown up," I said in disgust, a feeling echoed by the big strong man if his expression was anything to go by. Our conversation was interrupted by Skitter looking my way and, with an audible growl, speaking into the Hive Mind.

[**queen**] [**ready**] [**safety**] [**concern**]

"It's okay, Skitter," I smiled, taking a step closer to the rope and sending as much reassurance to the big girl with my next words, "Your brothers and sisters will watch out for me, and you, while you sleep."

Skitter nodded and, without further ado, scuttled into the chrysalis; the ichor rose up to the lip of the construction…

And I felt [**relief**] flow from her, accompanied by an absence of itching. It was like a weight had been lifted from my shoulders. It felt so good, I closed my eyes and sighed. The itching had been such a constant companion over the past weeks; I was glad it was finally gone.

"Oh!" Brelyna's exclamation made me open my eyes again. Skitter had apparently shed her exoskeleton, which was now forming a seal at the top of her chrysalis; as her [**contented**] emotions rippled into the Hive Mind, bringing an illumination of [**joy**] from her brothers, sisters, relatives, and her children yet unhatched, I felt something else…

Clicking my fingers, I spoke to Callidus, who was prepared with my journal on Skitter's progress, "Note: Skitter has entered a trance that is very like the common-to-Hunter change. Physically, her chitin processors are already reconstructing her exoskeleton; new organs and muscle groups seem to be forming. I am also sensing what I believe is a connection to the land's magic, which is pouring into her body and facilitating these changes; this hypothesis is based on the feelings my power presents while observing spriggans, which is the most similar sensation I can think of. Mentally…" I trailed off.

My power was picking up distant echoes of [**pain**], [**suffering**], [**fear**], [**hate**], and [**apathy**]. Other Chaurus were crying out, in the far distance; it wasn't easy to hear them clearly, and the images were hazy at best, but I had a good idea where each of them were.

There were two small clusters to the east, one that was very far away to the south, and another in the south, but closer and larger than the other three combined.

It was distracting, though I could still hear Faralda saying something about how revolutionary my discoveries were; more than distracting. It was something familiar to me.

I continued in a clipped tone when Callidus shifted and whispered my name in concern, "…Mentally, Skitter has… begun receiving distant signals of the Hive Mind; I believe these are areas of high Chaurus concentration. Due to previous observations, and the feelings being transmitted, I believe these are long-term Falmer lairs where Chaurus slaves are kept as breeding stock. Investigation by appropriate organizations is being considered. End notations."

I turned from Skitter and looked over my friends and visitors. Callidus was finishing the notes with a hard, determined expression; Faralda was silent, seeming to take my words seriously. Brelyna seemed nervous, glancing at her mentor for further direction.

My gaze turned to Farkas, who was watching me with an assessing frown, and Bori, who looked concerned but unsurprised; good man, "Mr. Farkas, I will need to speak to you in private, after lunch; I may have need of the Companion's services. Bori, your map, please."

At the same time, I made a cluster of bugs near the barracks, where Judas was standing watch, and quietly buzzed to Captain Frokmar Banner-Torn, warning him that there were many Falmer in the ruin to the south, and that they were preparing for a push to the surface, if the images I was receiving were correct. I suggested informing the Vigilants, and was promised a rider would be dispatched presently.

While I ensured the safety of the Pale, the Hive Mind's illumination of [**joy**] was joined by [**hope**]; those Chaurus that were hibernating and not in Dawnstar could hear my Chaurus speaking of their Queen, of the [**happiness**] they'd found on the surface of Skyrim, away from the Falmer. A twitch of my will added a [**warning**], to be careful in dispersing these thoughts.

Once done, and the locations of the Falmer settlements were located – Farkas was well-travelled, and Faralda knew the locations of many ruins and grottos around Skyrim; Bori promised to prepare a detachment to check the nearest ruin – my smile returned, and I invited my visitors to lunch, dismissing their concerns over my revelations.

I detached Skitter from the other Hive Minds, for the moment; I would check on each cluster regularly to examine their progress. Additionally, I told Imp and Sophia to keep an eye on their elder sister, and implemented a watch rotation; it wouldn't do for a wild animal or, Gods forbid, the Falmer, to kill Skitter before she finished changing.

In the meantime, I engaged Farkas and Faralda in a discussion involving spriggans, their connection to nature, and the similarities I felt when compared to Skitter's new ability; it was a thoroughly delightful conversation, the Companion knowing more of the traditional myths and legends regarding the nature avatars, while Faralda's knowledge was more academic. It was a most pleasant distraction, and allowed me to step closely with the hunky Nord, who enticed me with his musky scent and deep, steady voice.

The matter would be dealt with, in time, I assured them, and spoke no further on the things I felt, no matter how troubling and alarming they were.

For there was something else, an echo of [**hunger**] that kept telling the Chaurus to [**obey**], deep beneath Skyrim, barely a whisper to my senses, and I dared not examine it too closely, lest I accidentally reveal my hand too early to an unknown element.

I'd sworn, in the cold of Frostflow, to destroy any Falmer that crossed my path.

Hopefully, the rest of Skyrim would aid the Chaurus and I in our incipient rebellion.


	10. 10: Business and Investigations

**Reviewer responses:**

Anastor: the date, as of this chapter, is 24 Sun's Dawn, 4E200, more than a year before Alduin's return at Helgen. Khepri is retired, but she's still going to have to get her hands dirty a little, before settling down and making damn good artisanal mead for the rest of her days. No more spoilers will be given - you'll have to wait like everyone else - and thanks for your review!

Chicwowwow: This isn't Taylor Hebert. That girl basically died in the Gold Morning. The person you're reading about is Khepri, who has some scattered memories of Taylor's life and just enough of her personality to not want to go home; she did what she set out to do, and got shot in the head for it. Khepri also finds Skyrim extremely fascinating - and everyone is so polite and easy on the eyes - so she's decided to put those scatter memories behind her and reinvent her life. She doesn't remember her mother, or much of Danny; she barely remembers the Undersiders or Winslow. What's a Protectorate? Khepri has all of Taylor's powers - minus the ASSUME DIRECT CONTROL thing - with none of her hangups. If she sees some fine man strutting around being a beefcake, she's going to not only look, she's going to fantasize, mainly because she remembers enjoying sex with someone; on top of that, her hormones are still those of an 18-year-old young woman.

tl;dr It's not OOC if there's reasons for it happening. Thanks for the review, and if you want more in-depth details on this story's development, please visit its thread on QQ! Have a nice day!

Zekses: It's not for everyone, but I _did_ say things would get smutty. In fact, they will be downright _lewd_ in future chapters, but those will probably be QQ exclusives. Thanks for the review!

**Wowza, this got popular really fast! Thank you all for your support and feedback! Without further ado, let's continue the story~!**

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Chapter 10:

Business and Investigations

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Standing on Khepri's porch, watching the sky change colors as the sun set, Farkas took a look and listen at the town of Dawnstar with his arms folded; the place looked deceptively peaceful, people laughing and going about their last duties for the day.

Amid the pleasing sights were guards patrolling with extra watchfulness, the sound of the smithy almost frantic with both smiths working, and the sight of the older, wiser folk whispering to each other out of the playing children's earshot, their eyes worried and tense.

The Companion understood their worries, having heard the reasons from the source. Frowning, the young man looked back on the day, one of many firsts.

The Chaurus were slaves to the Falmer, hated the waxy scamps for torturing them and killing their young. There was a type of Chaurus _above_ the Hunter, one that allowed the Chaurus to communicate with their distant brethren – but only when they slept, according to Khepri.

Something was under Skyrim, controlling the Chaurus from a distance, ensuring they wouldn't rebel against the Falmer.

A grunt of discontent left Farkas, the young man glaring out into the Sea of Ghosts. The Houscarl, Bori, had taken eight men and women to check out the nearby ruin, to confirm Khepri's claim and, hopefully, rescue some of the Chaurus the Falmer were planning on bringing to the upper levels; according to the Jarl and Guard-Captain Banner-Torn, they'd be joined by a detachment of Vigilants.

Personally, Farkas found Khepri… well, on the one hand, she was a pleasant lass.

She was a fair lady with a kind smile and easy laugh. Not very subtle, though, if she thought Farkas didn't notice her looking him over with an almost _hungry_ gleam in her eye. If he was being honest, the young Werewolf wondered what was in the young woman's head; Farkas was big enough to break her in half, yet she wasn't coming off as scared or worried. More… _eager_, if he was smelling things right.

And she _was_ kind; honey in Dawnstar, helping bring warm water to the town proper, keeping the streets clean, teaching the children about Skyrim's animals and plants. Khepri was a boon to the Hold, no matter the grumbles of ice-brains. That she admitted planning on moving to warmer parts, later in the year… well, Farkas hoped with a smirk that she settled near Whiterun, help the Companions put the fear of the Nine into the bandits that kept raiding the supply line between his home and Morthal. When she wasn't putting Honningbrew out of business, that is.

But on the other hand… Khepri was fucking _terrifying_.

Oh sure, the mages could gush and wax poetic all they wanted; yes, her ability to manage four apiaries worth of Pale Honeybees was damn impressive, more so when she could control the Chaurus and Frostbites into being as docile as dogs in Riverwood. But Farkas was a warrior – a damn fine one if he did say so himself – and had been getting Khepri's measure as best he could; that she was a veteran of some foreign war was no secret. What's more, he believed the claim.

Because underneath the smiling, kind front she showed to the world, Khepri was _definitely_ a veteran, a warrior through-and-through, who feared neither Falmer, bandit, pirate, or Daedra worshiper. Hells, she'd probably find fighting a Dremora or Draugr Deathlord a good training exercise, given what she could do.

Khepri revealed, over lunch – the woman could _cook_; that horker loaf was fit to make men cheat on their wives and betray their Holds, or he wasn't a Wolf – that not only did she not need line of sight to control every insect in her range – which she admitted changed every day, but usually encompassed Dawnstar and the surrounding crags…

Khepri could manage every single bee in the apiaries _individually,_ while directing swarms of butterflies in the flowery fields south of the town, _and_ both control and direct all of the twenty-plus Chaurus that treated the black-haired woman like she was a Jarl's princess or something.

Wasps, Pale Flies, centipedes, ticks, lice, mosquitos, _hells_, the woman could control _mudcrab!_

If she wanted to, Farkas mused with a shiver that had _nothing_ to do with the cold, Khepri could siege and take any of the Hold capitals by sheer dint of devouring their food stores; and if that didn't work, she could bury whole guard companies under swarms of insects. Morthal, Falkreath, Riften and Whiterun wouldn't stand a chance against the woman. Which made Farkas wonder something else.

_Who the hells had the Talos-sized balls to fight her?_

She was a veteran, lost her arm in battle if the evidence was any judge. What in Ysgramor's name had she fought against, this mistress of swarms, who Farkas was sure could take on entire _armies_ by herself?!

For a _very_ brief moment, Farkas almost pitied the Falmer. Then he came to his senses; Khepri was dead-set on freeing the Chaurus, who she likened to the extinct Skyrim Guar. A fine and noble goal, worthy of legend if she could pull it off. Not that Skyrim's sons and daughters would stand by and let her go into some deep dark without an escort, no. That'd be dishonorable, standing by while the fair, foreign lass dealt with an enemy the Nords had fought for thousands of years.

For countless generations the Falmer had gnawed at Skyrim's roots; to not stand and fight against a threat to their way of life, when it was finally possible to exterminate them… well, it'd be shameful, it would.

Jarl Skald twigged to this, and sent out warnings to the other Jarls, along with a call to arms: the Falmer were preparing a push to the surface, to the end of killing Khepri, as she was a threat to the Falmer's underground empire; the little shits would likely kill and enslave anyone near her as well, which was no good for Dawnstar or the surrounding landscape.

To counter them, Skald advised the other Holds check and secure their ruins; meanwhile, a Muster of all the Holds willing to fight, and every organization capable of providing men-at-arms or specialists willing to dare the deep under Skyrim, was proposed by the ruler of the Pale; the deadline for the Muster was set on the 14th of First Seed, twenty days away. Any brave enough to answer were told to gather at the Dwarven ruin of Mzinchaleft, a few miles away from Dawnstar.

Farkas intended to be there, and he'd sent off a bird to the Harbinger to that effect, suggesting he check the Falmer den north of Whiterun, and to send a couple Shield-Brothers, preferably Vilkas and Skjor, who were better versed in Skyrim's history than he was.

If there was some word, on the cavern under Skyrim Khepri told Farkas and the elf mage about, the Companions would know of it; if not, then Faralda's letter to the Arch-Mage might result in some progress.

The click of the house's door shook Farkas from his musings. Looking over, he found Khepri, green eyes and black hair, smiling at him, "Would you like some mead, Mr. Farkas?"

There was only one answer to that, especially if you were a Nord, "Much obliged, Miss Khepri." And he loped into the house, doffing his steel helm and removing his sword, placing both next to the door while looking around the upper house.

A simple bed was pushed against one wall, one meant for that Callidus fellow if the reams of paper and pots of ink told right. The rest of the setup was standard: fireplace directly across from the main door, trapdoor leading to the basement, a table with two chairs – the mead bottle sat next to a mug, with a teapot and cup next to them – and the walls were decorated with simple banners and woven disks that depicted bees and other useful insects.

It was nice. Homey and warm. No one'd suspect it was the house of a former Daedra worshipper.

After shutting the door, Khepri stepped past Farkas to sit at the table, saying calmly, "Make yourself at home. I was also hoping we could discuss an errand I need to finish." And she sat in one of the chairs, smiling and gesturing for him to join her.

Farkas did, though carefully; he was still in armor, and didn't want to break her chairs, "If it's got somethin' to do with the Falmer, just say the word," assured the Companion gruffly, pouring himself a mug while Khepri prepared her tea, "And not 'cause of the Chaurus, either. Those waxy things have been pests for long as anyone can remember."

Humming around a sip of tea, Khepri's smile vanished, replaced by a flat look, "So I've gathered, from the history books the Jarl's wizard gave me. Four thousand years…" she shook her head with her eyes closed, looking a mite nettled; but then she smiled at him again, "But enough about them. I actually need to deliver the last of the first pots of honey, but, for whatever reason, the East Empire Company is… reluctant to deliver to the places they need to go."

Oh? Well… "So long as I'm back in time for the Muster, I think we can come to an arrangement," allowed Farkas, pausing to take a quick pull of mead; it was pretty damn good, and he said so, adding, "This your brew?"

"Oh, no," that smile could replace the sun, it could, "No, that was brewed by the person who gave _me_ the steps to making mead. Cristus, a Legion veteran, he helped me put down my first barrels, though they're rather small. I'm experimenting," she added with a sly smile, "trying to make mead that heals, cures diseases, and bolsters stamina."

Well now! That got Farkas' eyebrows up, "If it works, send a letter to Jorrvaskr. Shor knows the Harbinger would wanna buy a case or two," the young lass blushed and quietly assured him she would; warmed by the mead, Farkas got down to business, "How many pots, and where do you want them?"

Khepri straightened, putting on her own business face, "There are five pots. Each one has a uniquely carved, Chaurus-chitin lid, and is labeled as 'Khepri's Dawn Honey'; a note will be with each, dictating who they should be given to. These are the first pots, and are therefore gifts to certain important people around Skyrim," and she rolled her eyes a little, that sly smirk coming back, "Some are more deserving than others, but I intend to live in this province for the rest of my days."

"So you're goin' with cordial. I can respect that," nodded Farkas, sitting back and gesturing for Khepri to go on.

"The recipients are: Jarl Ulfric Stormcloak of Windhelm," and that explained why the EEC didn't want to deliver the pots, "Jarl Lalia Law-Giver of Riften, Jarl Balgruuf the Greater of Whiterun, Jarl Siddgeir of Falkreath… and the Greybeards of High Hrothgar."

Farkas' hand froze before he could sip his mead; then he set down his mug and said evenly, "The Throat of the World?" she nodded, looking honestly apologetic. He huffed out a sigh, thought about the route he'd have to take, then looked Khepri in the eyes again, "Yeah, that's doable. Should take about a fortnight. Won't be cheap, though."

She nodded, looking like she'd expected such, "I'm prepared to pay you fifteen Septims for delivering all the pots intact, as well as providing the Companions with a five-year contract when I begin making mead in bulk; Jorrvaskr will receive preferential deliveries."

Farkas may not have been the smartest Nord out there, but he was no ice-brain, and knew how to negotiate. Khepri turned out to be the cleverest bargainer he'd ever had the pleasure of meeting, though, and was generous as a Priestess of Mara.

The negotiations for the contract still took nearly an hour to wrap up, during which time Farkas poured himself a second mug, which went down slower than the first. In the end, Khepri would pay Farkas twenty Septims for a successful delivery of all five pots, with written confirmation from each deliveree – Farkas insisted on that point; no one would accuse him of half-assing a job. Farkas would accompany Khepri to Whiterun, once the Muster and resulting exploration were over and done with, to introduce her to the Harbinger and eke out the contract on the mead supply, as Farkas didn't have the authority – or the business-sense – to make that decision. Finally, Khepri would provide copies of her notes on the Chaurus to the Companions of Ysgramor; in the event the creatures became wild after her eventual death, it was common sense to let the ancestral guardians of Skyrim have the knowledge on how to defeat them – Khepri didn't think that would come to pass, the Chaurus attacking the people of Skyrim unprovoked after her death, but agreed all the same.

After the contract was drawn up and sealed – it would be sent by courier to Whiterun in the morning – Khepri invited Farkas to sit with her on her porch. The Werewolf didn't mind – it'd be the last time he'd see Dawnstar for a fortnight, and the sky-lights were dancing over the sea, a rare sight so close to spring… and Khepri was good company – and followed the fine lady outside, mug of mead in hand.

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**Mzinchaleft**

The upper floors of the ruin were just as empty as when Bori was last there. The last time, it'd just been a walk-over, clearing out the bandits and putting heavy stones in front of the Dwemer machine hatches.

Unlike last time, Bori could hear the chattering and screeching of Falmer further in.

Pointing his mace down the incline, Bori asked the Vigilant captain who commanded the group with them, Tolan, "Any idea what it's like further in?"

The bald Nord grimaced, the haft of his warhammer creaking in his grip, "Been twenty years since we ousted the vampires holed up here… a hall, I believe. Raised walkways around the outer edges, rubble all over."

Bori nodded while Lafka grumbled, "Suppose it'd be too much to hope the bandits cleaned up," a few chuckles and remarks on the lack of discipline amongst the warbands hummed through the gathered Hold guards and Vigilants.

Keeper Carcette wasn't with them, but she'd sent four of her best to aid Dawnstar's investigation of Khepri's claims; twelve men and women, all sober and ready to defend their homes, was more than enough, in Bori's opinion, to deal with the waxy hunchbacked Falmer.

Stepping forward, mace ready, Bori told his fellow protectors of Dawnstar, "Shields in front, bows behind, and try not to shoot the Chaurus unless they try to attack first. Khepri says they shouldn't come at us, but be wary," nods and grunts were had by his fellow Nords, all of them looking at the young Houscarl with respect; he was still getting used to that, being a Hold knight.

As they formed up, Tolan spoke up, "Keep your spells ready, Vigilants. Don't let any of the accursed creatures run back to their pit."

"Just make sure you don't hit _us_," Grimvar growled, earning a glare from Bori; if the young man was honest, he'd rather have mages on his side than not. Falmer were known to have shamans, and their cruelty was the stuff of legend.

A little further, and they found the Falmer; the waxy creatures looked like they were just getting set up in the hall, chest-high walls forcing any advancing opponent into choke-points, only a single hut high up on the back wall…

And a Chaurus pen on the left side of the room, a Hunter chrysalis against the wall guarded by four mid-sized commons. An adult Hunter was just outside the gate, near a Falmer shaman, which screeched a warning for the other Falmer in the hall.

All _ten_ of the armored, armed Falmer in the hall.

"Kill 'em!" Bori yelled, catching an arrow on his shield; shafts and fireballs flew past Bori into their enemies as he, with three guards and two Vigilants, rushed in to take the fight to the Falmer. A heavily armored one rushed right back at him with a growling screech, an antique glass longsword in one hand and ice in the other, its cuirass tanking the steel shot thrown against it.

And then, out of the corner of his eye, Bori saw the Hunter lunge at the shaman from behind and ram one of its barbed forelimbs through the creature's skull; its death-cry distracted the rest of the Falmer platoon, the little bastards surprised and angered at their cattle fighting back.

Bori wasn't an ice-brain; he broke the spell-arm of the Falmer in front of him, then brained the fucker before rushing at its friend, who'd just been splattered by a Chaurus' spit and was wailing in pain, "The White take you!"

The fight that followed could barely be called such, as the Falmer clearly weren't used to fighting the smarter races _and_ their own 'pets'. Directing Lafka to check the Chaurus over – they were more dinged up than the ones Khepri brought to Dawnstar, and the chrysalis couldn't be moved, so they'd have to post a guard until it woke – Bori and Tolan, with two others, followed a hallway further into the ruin, looking for the source of the infestation.

There were crude sacks and chests – made from Chaurus shells – scattered throughout an atrium of some sort, and a pit in the back of the hall…

Where shrieks, chitters, and the sound of crackling spells were getting closer. Running up to the edge and looking down, Bori's eyes went wide on seeing a Falmer in what _looked_ like ebony plate trying to keep the three commons and two Hunters at bay with its shield. Its back was to the exit…

Glancing at Tolan with a raised eyebrow, Bori's fellow Nord smirked darkly and stepped back. Smirking himself, Bori raised his mace and, right as the elevator reached the top, brought his hammer down right on the Falmer's skull, bashing its head into its ribcage.

The Chaurus watched its corpse fall to join the other five Falmer corpses on the elevator, then looked at Bori. He stepped to one side and waved his mace, saying, "Go, find your fellows."

They glanced about and, warily, started moving past the guards and Vigilants; all of the Chaurus had terrible scars all over their chitin, and one of the Hunters was badly injured, leaking ichor and whimpering in pain. One of the Vigilants stepped up and held up her glowing hands, at Bori's direction; there was only a brief moment of suspicion on the Chaurus' part before they let the woman heal the Hunter's wounds. It clicked its mandibles in thanks and rushed after its friends.

Which left Bori looking over the Falmer's corpses, which Vigilant Tolan was examining closely. The bald man held up an old enchanted glass axe, saying, "This model hasn't been used in Skyrim since the early Third Era. Likely scavenge, from adventurers who've tried to explore the ruin and failed."

Ormund, one of Bori's fellow guards, held up a coin, "This'un's got ol' Reman Cyrodiil's name on, Houscarl."

"So Khepri was right," grumbled Bori, glaring at the blood and pale, corrupted flesh, "There's an old Falmer settlement somewhere down there, probably with Eras worth of failed expedition's gear and loot."

"To say nothin' of the Chaurus," pointed out the female Vigilant, preparing a fire spell while the men looted the bodies of anything valuable, "For them to bring ten topside, there must be hundreds in the deep, 'specially if they're preparing an invasion to get the ones they lost to Khepri back."

Bori nodded; no doubt whatever Khepri was sensing in the deep could sense Skitter's change, and decided the big girl was too much a threat, that _Khepri_ was too much a threat to the Falmer, to allow them to live. Their job was done…

Then he remembered, from when he was a lad… a story his Pa told to him.

The deep… where few return from… and those that do have broken minds…

The lair of the Falmer, the blackest of – oh, _hells and demons_.

"Tolan," growled the moustached young man, drawing the questioning gaze of the Vigilant, "What do the Chosen of Stendarr know of Blackreach?"

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**A/N: The next chapter will move away from Dawnstar to touch on a few of the personages who will answer the call, some of whom you'll remember from certain quests. Like the Dawnguard, or a certain Forge, or a fetch quest... and one OC from another of my stories, reworked to fit the setting and nerfed to make him less Old Man Henderson-y.**

**Until then!**


	11. 11: Call to Arms

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Chapter 11:

Call to Arms

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**2 Days after Skitter's transformation began  
The Blue Palace, Solitude  
High King Torygg**

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Breakfast was just ending, and Torygg was mentally preparing himself for another day of court, when General Tullius appeared at the top of the stairs with 'Ambassador' Elenwen. Neither looked particularly pleased.

Outwardly, Skyrim's High King didn't react positively or negatively to their arrival, merely watching with polite interest as his steward, Falk Firebeard, checked both the high-ranking persons over for hidden weapons, giving apologies for the increase in security. Torygg noticed his wife, Elisif, sending him a subtle, concerned glance as she finished her porridge – mixed with some of Khepri the Beekeeper's fine honey, the first proof having arrived just last week, much to his chef's delight.

Torygg only twitched his lips and shifted his shoulder slightly in reply to his wife's unvoiced worries, actions that went unnoticed by the General or 'Ambassador'. He had a fairly good idea why the two were in his palace, and if he was right… well, the following minutes might be entertaining enough to see him through another tiring day of ruling Haafingar and Skyrim.

After Falk announced the arrivals – with the ghost of a mischievous smirk hidden in his beard – Torygg dabbed his beard with a napkin and greeted the 'honored dignitaries', who his people didn't appreciate being in Skyrim for one reason or another, "General, Ambassador. What can I do for you this morning?"

Tullius looked even _more_ incensed than when he arrived, to Torygg's humor, brandishing a sheaf of paper, "You can tell me why this… _Muster_ has been called," ah. Torygg expected as much, "The timing, given that my Legion is just arriving in force to deal with dissidents to the Concordat, is rather… alarming, as I'm _sure _you can appreciate."

The High King smiled, as one would to a child – because, while it would no doubt piss the Imperial off, there wasn't much the other man could do about it, as Torygg was King – and replied airily, "A coincidence, nothing more, General. Why, I would've expected Ambassador Elenwen," here, he nodded to said 'dignitary', "would've told you the reasons before you came here."

"I have," replied icily the Thalmor wench, who Torygg longed to see Shouted off a high place, "As I understand things, and have related to the good General," ah, and Tullius didn't seem to like her either, if his sour expression said anything; Torygg shifted a few plans around in his head as the woman prattled on, "Khepri, the Beekeeper of Dawnstar, made some ridiculous report of the Falmer preparing for a push to the surface, stirring up all manner of panic across your Holds." The knife-eared bitch looked like she was going to continue, with something disparaging no doubt.

Torygg didn't let her.

"I'm sorry," the High King smiled, his tone saying he was anything but, "it seems as though you're implying that Khepri does _not_ communicate with the Chaurus, that they do _not_ protect her at all times of day, and that Khepri herself does _not_ have an intrinsic understanding of all types of insect. Really, Elenwen," chuckled Torygg, delighting in the color taken by the woman's cheeks, under all that ghastly foundation she wore, "it's like you don't trust your own agent's reports."

"I have read the reports," she snapped, "but the _idea_ that these beasts are _intelligent _enough to_-"_

"The Skyrim Guar was nearly intelligent enough to speak, by all our ancestor's reports, yet they long served as a beasts of burden, or farm animals; indeed, if not for their service to the people of Skyrim, Whiterun and the Rift would be less bountiful than they are now," interrupted Elisif with a mild, but kind, tone, ignoring both the General's interested glance and Elenwen's glare as she buttered a roll.

It was times like these that made Torygg glad he married the beautiful woman. Yes, she wasn't ready to assume the duties of High Queen in full – _yet_ – but her knowledge of history and sharp wit served her well, and him by extension.

That he loved her dearly was just icing on the sweetroll that was their marriage.

"Well said, my Queen," Torygg chuckled lowly, exchanging a smile with his wife before looking seriously at the two 'dignitaries', "I have received letters from Jarl Sklad of the Pale, Keeper Carcette of Stendarr's Vigilants, and the East Empire Company's supervisor in Dawnstar. Khepri the Beekeeper's word is above reproach; she is not a Daedra worshipper; by the power she holds, the Pale has enjoyed – and will _continue_ to enjoy, if I have anything to say of it – peace and bounty unheard of since the Great Collapse. If she claims the Falmer are coming to remove her as a threat, and the Vigilants and Jarl vouch for her word, I'm inclined to believe such a claim. Falk? Tell them of the most recent missive, please."

While Torygg stood, straightening his robes and making sure his crown was on straight, his steward reported calmly, "The Vigilants and a team of Dawnstar's guardsmen examined a Dwemer ruin near the town of Dawnstar; according to Keeper Carcette, the Falmer are up in arms over Khepri sniping the Chaurus out from under them, and are preparing a force in the deep to assault the Pale. More than this, according to Khepri, the Chaurus are preparing to rebel against the Falmer, who they hate for their enslavement."

"And that's why the Muster's been called, to stop them from killing Khepri," murmured Tullius, rubbing his chin and frowning, while Elenwen looked thoughtful; then the General addressed Torygg directly, as the High King held out a hand for his Queen to rise from her chair, "What of the Chaurus? What will be done about them, once this _rebellion_ has run its course?"

Torygg sighed and smiled condescendingly at General Tullius, "General, I have a nation to run," and keep from falling into chaos, he didn't say, but the implication was there, "If you want to know what the Chaurus will do, once these millennial-old terrors have been wiped out, I suggest you send soldiers to the Muster and have them _ask_ Khepri what will happen. Although, from what I've been told, so long as Khepri is left alone and they are not harmed, the Chaurus are willing to live and let live; whether that will last past the Beekeeper's death is anyone's guess, though I sincerely hope it will be the case."

He wasn't lying either. Torygg truly hoped that, once the threat of the Falmer was removed – hopefully in a _very_ permanent fashion – and Khepri went to the hills, the Chaurus would continue to clean city streets and cavort peacefully with children, as Skald's reports claimed was their wont.

That there would be assistance in the fields, a lasting supply of chitin and potions ingredients, and defenders of the lands should Skyrim come under attack once more… well, he'd have to ask Khepri himself, after the dust settled. Not that he was about to air his doubts to the 'dignitaries'.

"Now, it's good you've come here, as it saves me the time it would take to send the summons," and Torygg sat on the throne, his wife flanking him on her own, and they became High King and Queen of Skyrim, "By all reports, a foul threat seeks to devastate the Pale and assault Khepri the Beekeeper, someone with a, frankly, terrifying ability. None of us want someone who is capable of wiping out armies thinking us cowards, when the Chaurus, who have endeared themselves to her, seek to usurp their overlords, the godless Falmer.

"To wit, a Muster of Skyrim has been called, for the third time in this nation's history, begun when Tiber Septim made the precedent with the first Red Legions, and again, when the world was imperiled by the Oblivion Crisis. On this day, the 27th of Sun's Dawn, in the 200th year of the 4th Era, I, High King Torygg I of Skyrim, declare this Muster official," a small smile might have touched his lips, "Though my Jarls and other residents of Skyrim have already taken the initiative, it seems.

"I have already received missives from Jarl Ulfric Stormcloak of Windhelm, Jarl Skald of Dawnstar, Jarl Balgruuf the Greater of Whiterun, Jarl Idgrod Ravencrone the Elder of Morthal, Harbinger Kodlak Whitemane of Jorrvaskr, Arch-Mage Savos Aren of the College of Winterhold, and Keeper Carcette of the Vigilants of Stendarr. From Windhelm, Jarl Stormcloak commits 150 men-at-arms, 10 Dunmeri sappers, and has enlisted the assistance of 7 Proven of Boethiah, led by Grand Proven Drevas of Mournhold."

Oh, how Torygg relished the looks on Elenwen and Tullius' faces, hearing the name of the 14th most wanted being in Tamriel, who also happened to be the most experienced dungeon delver north of the Jeralls.

"Dawnstar commits 40 warriors of the Hold, under the joint commands of Jarl Skald, Guard Captain Frokmar Banner-Torn, and Houscarl Bori, and will be assisted by the town's Priests. Harbinger Whitemane has sent Companions Skjor One-Eye, Farkas, and Vilkas, commanding 20 Whiterun guards protecting 8 Priests and Priestesses of Divine Kynareth. Jarl Ravencrone will be supplying the Muster with potions ingredients and the Alchemical expertise of her household; I will be sending reinforcements to shore up her Hold's defenses until the event is concluded. Arch-Mage Aren sends his regards, and will be attending the Muster personally with four mages of the College, as the rest are busy with an important dig-site on the Pale Glacier. Finally, the Vigilants of Stendarr will commit all they have at their headquarters, 50 servants of the Divines all.

"General Tullius of the Imperial Legion, Ambassador Elenwen of the Aldmeri Dominion… you stand on Skyrim's soil, and, like all who have paid heed the call to arms, are bound by the laws of the Empire and the land to provide whatever aid you can for this noble endeavor: the everlasting destruction of the Falmer threat. What are your commitments to the Muster?"

If he was being honest, Torygg mused with an internal chuckle, noting that Tullius would send two full companies of Rangers under Legate Rikke, with 50 auxiliaries versed in siege warfare from the main Legion, while the Thalmor would be sending a platoon of forty guards with four Justicars…

Even though he hated his position at times, Torygg had to admit, sometimes… it was good to be a King.

.

**3 days after Skitter's transformation began  
Suite 4, Silver-Blood Inn, Markarth  
Katria**

**.**

_Bang-bang-bang-bang!_

Katria returned to consciousness with a splitting headache; that someone was knocking on her door only made things worse. Nonetheless, she blinked crust from her eyes and tried to remember how she'd gotten to where she was… and why someone was _banging on her door_ at… four bells in the _fucking_ morning.

A week ago, she and her beau, the lovely Sorine Jurard, in their bid to better understand Skyrim's brand of Dwemer ruin – and to prepare for plumbing Arkngthamz, where a clue to the Forge might rest – threw in with that Falmer eccentric in Understone Keep, Calcelmo, and delved the ruin of Nchuand-Zel, which the High Elf was in the process of excavating.

Four days of dodging traps, skewering Falmer, and generally getting stressed-out in the forbidding dark were enough for Katria to decide that the mission was a bust. After nearly dying to a thrice-damned Sphere Master, her Sori agreed; let Calcelmo hire someone _else_ to plumb the labyrinthine deathtrap.

Thus, after reporting the complexities of the inner ruin – crawling with Falmer and Chaurus, automatons by the score, and full of head-scratching puzzles – Sorine dragged Kat off to Dibella's Temple for a much-needed "healing session".

Katria didn't like a lot of Markarth, but the two days they spent in the high Temple reminded her why she loved her fiery Sori.

Unfortunately, they couldn't hare off to Arkngthamz after the Temple, as a thunderstorm rolled through the previous day. Neither could they stay at the Temple; the Priestesses' hospitality was limited, after all, and the pair _were_ rather loud with their… healing rituals.

So they'd spent the previous day getting drunk and making a couple Septims with their tale of exploring the Dwemer ruin, as well as making love in their suite.

Thus, hungover and pleasantly sore, Katria just wanted to sleep for a day, recover, and head off to continue her mission to discover the Aetherium Forge. But…

_Bang-bang-bang-bang!_ _"Katria! Miss Jurard, I know you're both in there!" Bang-bang-bang-bang!_

Calcelmo… apparently had a _death wish_.

On Kat's bare chest, her beloved partner – _much_ more trustworthy and pleasant company than that tree-hugging _s'wit_ who stole her historic notes – groaned through her own hangover and murmured sleepily, "Ima crack 'is skull op'n wit' a fork."

"I'll chase him off, love," promised Kat, giving her sexy lass a sound kiss – both giggling and gagging at each other's morning breath – and reluctantly left her girl's breasts and the bed for a robe and slippers.

Before the goldskin fucker could knock again, Katria unlocked the suite's door, grabbed her sword, and ripped the Dwemer obstruction aside to see Calcelmo himself, one hand raised to knock again. He looked rather surprised by her lack of dress – Kat was nearly flashing the man as it was – but, unfortunately for him, Katria wasn't in the mood for mercy.

"What in Molag's pox-riddled starfish is your _fucking_ problem, waking me at this ungodly hour?!"

Kat would treasure the look on Calcelmo's face until she went to the hills. Sori's snort of humor just made it better.

On the other hand… the High Elf wizard looked rather excited for some reason. Which was weird; not much could get the Mer in such a state-

"Blackreach," the Elf gasped, making Katria's mind seize up, "A Muster of Skyrim has been called, to purge _Blackreach_."

Katria barely noticed Sorine's squawk of surprise as she tumbled from the bed.

Everyone who researched the Dwemer heard of their deepest redoubt, Blackreach. Few ever found it; fewer still returned sane. All who returned gave the same report: it was infested with Falmer by the hundred, a madman's folly to explore. Yet, for all the warnings, there was one fact: the one who delved it successfully would find treasures of the Dwemer unheard of. What's more…

"Kat!" Sorine was next to their journals, still naked, but excited with professional glee, "One of the ruins, you theorized they mined the stuff from a _deeper_ mine!"

…it was where _aetherium _came from, Katria was sure of it! And if the theory proved correct, they might find another clue to the Forge.

What was more, if a Muster had been called, there'd be _hundreds_ of warriors and experts there to help them delve the ruins! And they might find _other_ allies, to help her and Sori locate the Forge and, if they were lucky, the schematics needed to reproduce a Dwarven Crossbow!

Whirling back to face Calcelmo, who was dancing in place, Kat asked, "When and where?"

"Seventeen days' time, in the Pale," gasped the Elf, "The Jarl has insisted, given your lack of success, that I assist the endeavor with all I have. I leave, with 25 personal guards and 20 Hold guards, in two hours."

"We'll meet you at the gate," and Kat slammed the door in the bastard's face, just in time to catch her Sori as she jumped into her arms with a squeal of delight.

After giving her Breton girl a searing kiss, Katria grinned, "Feel like skewering a few hundred more Falmer, love?"

"So long as it's with you, I'm ready for Oblivion itself!" Kat could practically _see_ a Candlelight go off in her love's head, "But, before we go, I have to send a letter off to a friend of mine!"

"Who?" asked Katria, confused, while her woman dashed over to the suite's desk, where she grabbed paper and quill.

"Oh, Isran, a former Vigilant. That hermit probably won't hear of this, but he'll think it a good training exercise…"

**.**

**4 days after Skitter's transformation began  
Market Square, Riften  
Mjoll the Lioness**

**.**

"…and the most heinous act of _torturing children_," the Jarl's voice could've sent shivers through a Dremora, with those last words, "I, Jarl Lalia Law-Giver, sentence you, Grelod, to hang by the neck until dead. May the Divines have mercy on your pitiful soul."

The crowd was, mostly, silent, though there were cheers – and more than a couple jeers – for the bruised, weeping woman. Just the day before, after a Companion of Ysgramor came to the city and delivered a pot of honey to the Jarl, that same Companion heard a sound at the orphanage, the one Maven Black-Briar funded and staffed.

When the Companion tried to investigate – something the guards agreed with, as the sound was a _whip_ and a weeping _child_ – Black-Briar's thug, Maul, tried to stop him. Short story even shorter, Maul was in the Temple with a busted jaw, the burly Companion stayed long enough for a drink at the inn before heading off to Iverstead, as he had more of Khepri the Beekeeper's pots to deliver, and Grelod…

The bottom fell out of the platform.

Short drop, sudden, cracking stop. At least they put a bag over the pathetic woman's head, first, Mjoll mused while a few in the crowd plastered the vile bitch's corpse with rotten tomatoes.

"So much for being 'kind', eh?" Brynjolf muttered next to Mjoll, receiving hums and grunts of agreement from Sapphire and Delvin; ordinarily, Mjoll wouldn't let the thieves within five paces of her person, but circumstances conspired to place thieves and adventurer on the same path.

All the same, Mjoll spat and growled, "Serves the woman right. I've been trying to get her arrested for _months_ now," and a Companion strolls into town and does her work for her. Thank the Nine for the Muster; after the events of the previous day, Mjoll – and Aerin, who would follow her through Oblivion gates, he would – was finally convinced.

She'd rather be on the road, doing good, helping others, than wasting her time in Black-Briar's city.

That… and the corrupt woman was, by all accounts, _seething_ at the – perceived – blatant disrespect shown by Khepri's gift to the Jarl. Mjoll didn't want to be anywhere near Riften when the bitch finally blew her top.

"Ready Mjoll?" Aerin had finally arrived, and was giving the members of the Thieves' Guild a neutral look, one which was returned with faux-innocence.

"Of course, Aerin," she assured her dear friend warmly, before turning a heated gaze on Brynjolf and Delvin, speaking quietly, "Before we leave, assure me of something: is Black-Briar sending you to steal from the Beekeeper?"

Delvin snorted, while Sapphire rolled her eyes and Brynjolf faked a cough, "Mjoll, lass… we had Vex go and get the Beekeeper's measure two weeks' past. Black-Briar doesn't have enough money to have us rob _her_."

"You? Passing up coin for a robbery?" Aerin observed just as quietly as they passed the gates, Mjoll in the lead with her freshly-sharpened Elven greatsword, clad in shining Dwemer plate. Their group were the only ones who were answering the call to Muster…

At Mzinchaleft. She wondered whether Grimsever was still in the deep.

"Boy," grunted Delvin; a glance over her shoulder showed the man wincing, "There's robbing a house, then there's robbing _Khepri_. One can be done, easy. The other… well, I like my arms right where they are."

Mjoll grunted and nodded at Aerin, letting him know to drop it. Though… "If Maven hates her so much, why doesn't she have the Dark Brotherhood go after Khepri?" It was known Black-Briar wasn't above such things. Mjoll _still_ had a scar on her forearm, from when she'd thrown that child-like vampire through a wall; at least the assassins hadn't come back.

"She did."

The tall woman whipped her blonde head around to stare at Brynjolf, who looked… haunted.

He met her gaze, then shook his head, "Like I said, Lioness. Not for all the gold in the world. Besides," and his face lit up in delight once more, "A Dwemer ruin, one that no-one's ever fully plumbed, likely full of riches?"

"Aye," Sapphire agreed with a smile as they got on the road to Windhelm, "There'll be gold aplenty, without pissing off the lady that can rip your legs off from the next Hold over."

Exchanging a glance with Aerin, who shrugged, Mjoll sighed and set a brisk pace. It'd take the better part of a week to reach Dawnstar. Once there… she'd see with her own eyes, just how dangerous a woman who was called 'Beekeeper' could be.


	12. 12: All Is Violent, All Is Bright

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Chapter 12:

All Is Violent, All Is Bright

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.

.

**.**

**7 Days after Skitter's transformation began  
Lake Geir, the Rift  
Farkas of the Companions**

The rain was nearly thick enough to swim in.

Early spring thunderstorms were no stranger to someone of Farkas' experience. Neither was seeking shelter on the island in the middle of Lake Geir, where a small, mostly dry cave sat. Both of those things happening at the same time, when Iverstead was _right there_… that was a rarity.

Farkas spun carefully on the incline leading to the cave, whipping his freshly-tended-to sword around to lop off _another_ troll's arm. The beast's screech was cut off when he planted the tip of the blade in the creature's throat, but that was enough for the other _four_ to come grunting and huffing through the shallow waters, hot on the Companion's tail. With a snarl of disgust, Farkas kept running up the muddy embankment toward the cave, taking care not to jostle the tall, narrow box on his back too much.

In the past week, he'd made good time through the Holds, delivering Khepri's honey. The honey bread she'd given him before he left was nearly gone, and if its tastiness was any indication… well, Farkas was looking forward to seeing what the fine lass did with mead. The stamina potions Khepri included were better than what Arcadia sold, too; Farkas still had three of them, having saved the vials for the Seven Thousand Steps.

He also had little doubt Khepri would run Goldenglow Apiaries and Honeyside out of business in short order, once she moved to Whiterun and _really_ got her business going.

Farkas planned to help her move there.

He planned to be one of the first to drink her mead.

Khepri was a fine, dangerous lass who could take care of herself well enough. Farkas would still make sure no stupid bandits or asshole corpse-humpers darkened her door. She was a lass worth fighting for, and was interested.

No girl ever looked at Farkas with _that_ much interest before… so he'd return, whenever his duties brought him near Khepri, and make sure she wasn't lonely. Loneliness wasn't good for veterans like her, and the Chaurus, while loyal, weren't people.

Farkas wanted to live a long life, maybe help Vilkas become Harbinger someday... and, maybe, have somewhere other than Jorrvaskr to call home.

Four grunting, hungry trolls stood between the young Wolf and that hopeful future.

Barreling into the cavern, Farkas took the box with Khepri's honey off his back and carefully placed it in a dark corner, then readied himself to fight four trolls on uneven-

An ancient Nord arrow skipped off his cuirass, followed by a hoarse growl he knew all too well.

Whirling, heart pounding in disbelief and rage, Farkas saw _three_ bow-wielding Draugr Deathlords, two of which held a strange blue shine to their persons. Against the far wall of the cave, bracketed by glowing mushrooms, a man's corpse laid in a pool of dried gore next to a pickaxe… and a shattered section of wall, with an ancient lever set into a stone.

The isle was a fucking _barrow!_

After ducking two more arrows, the screams of the four trolls rang in the inn-sized cave. Three of them ran at Farkas.

In his mind, he saw Khepri's smile beneath the northern sky, heard her soft laugh, saw her kind gaze, smelled…

_'I will not die here.'_ Farkas thought, throwing his sword into one troll's chest and letting the Wolf in him free.

The citizens of Iverstead shivered in their homes that stormy evening, as the howls of wolves and monsters drifted over the lake between claps of thunder.

Near the morning, the innkeep was shocked when a Companion of Ysgramor, covered in wounds and carrying a narrow box, staggered through the door and nearly collapsed into the fire. Luckily, the Fellstar family had plenty of homemade restoratives in their cellar, but it was still a near thing.

By the next morning, the Companion, Farkas was his name, was hale and healthy once more. The tale he told the townsfolk both awed and frightened them; a _second_ barrow, on the lake?! Oh, certainly, everyone was grateful for his dealing with the trolls – few men could fight one, let alone _four_, and expect to come away alive or whole – but if some fool had disturbed the resting place of the Ancient Nords…

The people of Skyrim were not known for being foolish, in the face of hardship. Iverstead was a small community with no champions of its own, only boasted a small garrison, and the Companion was on a mission to High Hrothgar. So the townsfolk would keep a weather eye on the island, until Jarl Law-Giver could send reinforcements and Priests to re-seal the barrow.

_One_ haunted tomb was bad enough, exclaimed the Innkeep to the nodding agreement of all, save Farkas the Companion, who was already striding for the Seven Thousand Steps.

Farkas only wondered how the amulet he found might look on Khepri's neck.

**.**

**12 days after Skitter's transformation began  
Skitter's Den, Dawnstar  
Skitter**

**.**

The Great She Who The Queen Named Skitter shivered in the cold, and felt the changes to her body through the air against her chitin.

Skitter's wings were longer, larger, as was much of herself. Skitter's tail end – abdomen, the Queen called it – was now long and narrow, ending in barbed stinger; Skitter felt it as a part of her. Not something that would be disposed of, as it was with bees.

Skitter's six limbs had changed, too. Her forelimbs ended in four claws on short digits. They were flexible, Skitter felt, as were the shorter, three-clawed limbs just beneath them. Skitter's hind legs were very long, with two toes pointing forwards, and one back; the knees felt like they could bend backwards…

Could… could Skitter _stand_, like… like the _Queen?_

[**sister.**] Skitter heard the mental call of the Annoying but Crafty She Who The Queen Named Imp, an image flowing through the Hive Mind.

Skitter's head was different, too, but Skitter had already felt this change, in her pupa. Two thick horns curved to either side from the center of her brow, with three narrower ones sprouting from behind the ridge they created; Skitter still had eight eyes, one below and three above on each side, but her new four mandibles looked stronger, tougher, and felt that way too. The color of Skitter's body was now a dark bronze, her wings the color of soft green.

Skitter knew her changes were great, but to think she was so beautiful… [**Imp… Queen?**]

"Hello Skitter." The Queen was there; Skitter could _feel her_, hear the Queen's lovely voice, but it was all somehow… _more_ than before. A sharper, more defined… experience.

Within her thorax, Skitter felt _breath_, a quiet rippling deep inside of her. Air hissed from her mouth, followed by a small cough and stream of residual ichor.

The Queen was looking at Skitter, but Skitter couldn't see. Why?

[**sister**] [**sister**] [**mother**] [**cousin**] [**sister**] [**Skitter**] not just Queen, but everyone. All her fellow Chaurus were present, approaching Skitter, her sister and brothers and hatchlings and fellows. Their claws reached for Skitter, and pulled the wet, cold residue from Skitter's chitin, which made Skitter [**grateful**] to them, as it became less cold.

And Skitter could see.

The world held _color_.

The world was _moving_, always _moving_, a light green and gold rippling through every blade of grass, every stone and clump of snow. It rippled over the glorious green-black bodies of Skitter's [**family**]… who all held a small ember of light in their thorax.

A pair of white boots, framed in the hide of a great bear, appeared in Skitter's vision, accompanied by the Queen's voice, "Your vision is very good now, isn't it Skitter? Maybe, once all this terrible business is behind us, I could teach you to read?"

Skitter felt a tightness in her chest. Was there no end to the Queen's generosity, her benevolence?

…her _fury?_

Oh yes, Skitter could feel it, behind her Queen's warm words. A cold, choking anger that could swallow the world there slept, within their Queen. _Khepri_.

Skitter looked up, seeing, for the first time, the black-white hilts of the blade Khepri held, the brown pouches on her belt, the blue of her tunic, the wavy dark of her mane… all the Queen's person was lined with a glittering gold.

And then Skitter beheld her Queen's face, as did all the Chaurus nearby, for Skitter could not keep the image to herself; all should see their Queen's beauty as Skitter could.

Their Queen was _radiant_, drawing a mental gasp of [**awe**] and [**adoration**] from the Hive Mind…

"Oh!" and a surprised gasp from their Queen. "That's… interesting."

A slim ring of golden light framed the Queen's head, though it emitted no light of its own. It looked as though the light came from _elsewhere_, to Skitter's eyes. More than that, a star of light gleamed dimly between the Queen's brow.

There was only one thing this could mean, in Skitter's mind.

[**Queen… we both have crowns, like in the stories?**] queried Skitter, lifting a forelimb and touching her own crest… getting a small wave of not-unpleasant feedback. Those were Skitter's new antennae, then.

The Queen smiled, a sight that always warmed the Chaurus, "I think you have more of a crown than I do, Skitter." Queen Khepri waved her left forelimb through the air next to her head, turned her head side to side; the ring of gold did not move or change, unaffected by all actions. "I can't even touch mine, it seems."

Thinking on this, and remembering other stories, Skitter than asked, [**does this mean I am a… Chaurus Princess, Queen?**]

The Queen laughed, "Do you feel like a princess, sewing in a tower, waiting for a knight to whisk you away?"

[**no.**] replied Skitter, shivering again, but not for the cold. [**I am ****_angry_****, my Queen.**]

For twelve suns and moons, Skitter suffered to hear the **[pain**] and [**agony**] of those still enslaved to the _Falmer_. Children, not even a week from their hatchings, _whipped_ and _crippled_ and _forced to breed_; and when their bodies failed them, _slaughtered_, their hated masters forcing the younger to consume the meat of their own young parents.

For twelve days and eleven nights, Skitter told them, the Hunters yet to wake, of Queen Khepri. Of Dawnstar. Of the kindness the Chaurus could have upon the surface. And they listened. They spread the word. The time to rise against the Falmer and the _Tyrant_, who ensured the Queen could never truly have the hearts of the Chaurus… the time for the Chaurus' freedom was near. Skitter told all the Chaurus this, as she changed in her pupa, and the time was truly near.

But Skitter was angry.

Because, in those twelve days, Skitter came to know [**love**].

Khepri was there, in the Hive Mind. She took the pain of the whip from the young ones upon herself. She comforted them in their agonies, shared in their misery. And when they died, she _lifted them up_, weaving their minds into the tapestry of the Hive Mind, so no Chaurus could ignore the cruelty of the Falmer, so their sacrifice would live on.

Each day, Skitter listened to her Queen weeping quietly in her bed, mourning each life lost, while soldiers and champions gathered… because Khepri called them.

The _Tyrant's _hold on the Chaurus was weakening. With every act Khepri made, it became a choice: live on in bondage, or rebel for a chance at light. And Khepri was winning, more Chaurus waiting [**eagerly**] for that chance each day. The two western hives were already theirs; the far south clan drove their masters into the waiting blades of Whiterun's people. Only the near ruin, and _Blackreach_, remained in the north.

But Skitter was _angry_, enough that her wings buzzed. She'd felt her Queen's [**grief**] and [**sorrow**] at the cruelty of the Falmer, and it made Skitter [**hate**] them all the greater with each passing day.

[**I am angry, Khepri.**] confessed Skitter, looking into the Queen's face, which held an expression of hardly-restrained wrath. [**I want to kill them, because they have caused you pain.**]

"Not because of your people's pain?" asked the Queen, sounding surprised, like Bori when one of guards called off due to mating too hard but made an excuse yet Bori knew because Bori was smart.

[**no. We suffered because we did not know. They made sure we would never know, never learn.**] Skitter moved her limbs, loosening them up; she felt _strong,_ _light_. [**you have given us this, and you took our pain, and you have broken our chains. That is why you are Queen to the Chaurus. That is why we will kill them.**]

Skitter flexed her hindlimbs, and the knees bent forward. Slowly, carefully – for Skitter's den didn't have a high ceiling – Skitter stood up on two legs for the first time. Plates shifted with the motion, until she was upright, standing just outside her den in front of Queen Khepri. Skitter was taller than Queen, by about half-again Queen's height.

"Well, you're not about to go off alone." Queen Khepri smiled, but it was a dangerous smile, one that Skitter liked. "I swore to destroy these things if they ever darkened my path again. I'm happy to help."

Yes, Skitter felt; the warmth in her chest, it was [**love**].

[**sister, how will you fit in doors?**] called the She Named Imp, chittering and tilting her small head to one side. Other Chaurus [**agreed**], chittering their own queries while the Queen stifled a laugh and observed, "Yes, that might be an issue now. I suppose you'll have to stay under the porch; it's the only place big enough, until the greenhouse is done anyway."

Yes, Skitter [**loved**] her Queen, but her siblings and relatives could be so [**annoying**] at times.

**.**

**10****th**** First Seed, 4E200  
Khepri's house, basement**

**.**

"…and Dibella, to you I pray: watch over those who go to protect those they love, so that their passion may glorify Mundus… Watch over your children, oh Nine Divines, as we seek glory in the dark beneath."

Prayers said, I pulled the banner back to cover my small shrine… and sighed.

_'I am a hero still, it seems.'_ Even the distance between worlds can't erase how I act toward others. I've tried to present a normal front to my neighbors, acting as though I would like nothing better than to stay on my porch and watch the aurora, a cup of tea in my hand and pleasant company to chat with.

And, to tell the truth, I _do_ want that. How I want that so _badly_.

Yet the Falmer would not allow that. They would attack, and attack, and attack, until I either came to them, or I died of old age. And then the Chaurus would be slaves again; the strange presence under Skyrim, the one Skitter called [**tyrant**], would ensure the destruction of all my work in helping these poor dears..

Yes, they were frightening to look at, the Chaurus, but I thought them cool and beautiful and amazing, far more than I thought them scary. Quite a few people agreed, so I couldn't be _too _biased. So many people have come, from all over Skyrim, to see the Falmer destroyed, to gain riches and plunder from the Dwemer ruin… yet, the greatest thing they would do had nothing to do with gold or jewels.

They would set an entire race of children free.

And I would stand with them. Because _that_ was what the other me, the Khepri from before Skyrim, always fought for: everyone working together for something _right_. It was something that still lived in me, one of the few things I wanted to keep from my old life… which was understandable. Too much blood and pain and grief and lonliness.

Puttering around the bar in my basement, I started to make sure everything was in place; that morning Bori reminded me, for the fourth time, that there was a tent for me at the ruin, whenever I wished to visit and sit in on the meetings. Honestly, I remembered too many fruitless meetings to _want_ to visit the Muster, though I did make three brief visits, just to check up on the Chaurus and help map the Falmer-made tunnels that spiderwebbed across Skyrim.

Most of those now held nothing but Chaurus, the waxy horrors slowly penned in their deep redoubt of Blackreach. Where the Tyrant lived.

I didn't know what it looked like, but Legate Rikke of the Imperial Legion and Houscarl Galmar Stone-Fist of the Stormcloak Militia managed to agree on one thing: it needed to die.

By that morning, over two thousand people had answered the call to Muster; some veterans and soldiers, some farmer's sons and daughters, many adventurers, even the Arch-Mage had arrived from Winterhold, in the evening of the previous day.

I didn't have anyone present for Skitter's awakening. Everyone who was there for the start was busy; Brelyna was making a type of candle that would allow messages to be sent to Solitude - though she still found time to play a ball game with the children and Chaurus, in the fields - Faralda was assisting the Arch-Mage in coordinating the efforts of the Dwemer experts, and I'd lent Callidus to Keeper Carcette to help organize the attack waves that would, in several days' time, be sent one by one into the deep of Mzinchaleft.

And Farkas… had yet to return. The fact made me frown while I wiped a rag absently over the counter.

Vilkas, Farkas' younger brother, assured me his brother had been in Whiterun some days ago. Going by the route Farkas gave me, he would then go to Falkreath, then take the road through Helgen to Iverstead, and from there… to High Hrothgar.

I sincerely hoped he was well – and he just entered my range, jogging easily up the road toward the town.

Through Judas' eyes, who was perched on the crags under a bear hide blanket, I saw the hunky object of my thoughts slow down and look at the four spriggans walking through the fields, the nature avatars studiously ignoring the Companion as he kept jogging toward Dawnstar… and my home.

I then realized I'd been staring at the wall for twenty seconds. _'Perhaps I should clean up a little?'_ I thought after shaking myself out of a stupor; my, but the Gods were good to me. Odd that I didn't remember any religious devotions from my previous life, but perhaps that was just another thing denied me, in the face of constant struggles.

Looking about, I found my living space spotless… which shouldn't have been a surprise.

Between aiding Skitter with the Hive Mind, planning a rebellion, and pining over the so-polite and _strong_ Companion, I'd worried myself nearly spare. And when I became worried, I cleaned.

It was about that moment, when one of the guards posted around my house approached my door, did I realize something else.

I had not masturbated since Farkas left.

Quickly, I saw to my person before the guard knocked: my blue-white tunic was in place and clean, boots were buckled, my prosthetic was snug on my stump with its new steel mail that ran up to my shoulder, and my sword was at an angle that gave me freedom of movement while walking. Oh, and my hair was in a long braid over my right shoulder, the end held in a buckle of blue coral.

I was certainly presentable. Excellent.

"Miss Khepri?" called the guard, Joquin, through my door, "A Farkas of the Companions, here to see you?"

"Send him in, Joquin, and thank you." I called in reply, brushing a few hairs from my eyes; why was I getting so worked up?

[**Queen. You have good taste in males.**] observed Skitter from her temporary den under my porch, sending her mental approval of Farkas' overall size and strength.

_'Skitter!'_ my face felt quite hot indeed, though I forced it down when I felt Farkas enter my house; putting more than a few unfulfilled nighttime fantasies from my mind, I called, "Down here, Mr. Farkas!" and made my way around the bar once more, where several bottles of mead and his payment rested under the counter.

And then he was coming down the stairs, face scruffy and body musky from the road, yet he greeted me in that deep drawl I liked so much, "Ms. Khepri. Sorry that took so long."

I smiled, "Nonsense. You're a whole day early," I paused, feeling concerned by his lack of personal hygiene, "Are you well? You look like you haven't slept in days. Please, sit." I gestured at a stool and produced a mug and a bottle, then set to work uncorking it while the man sat, removing the box I gave him to lean it against the bar.

"I'm well, Ms. Khepri. Don't sleep much as it is. Wilds aren't forgiving, if you nod off in the wrong place." I nodded with an understanding smile, which he favored with one of his own; then he exchanged the mug I passed him with a scroll case, "Proof of delivery, as promised."

"And once again," I chuckled, using some warm water I kept in a kettle on my Alchemy desk to make a quick cup of tea, "I didn't truly need such a thing. You are, as far as I can see, a trustworthy man; your brother certainly thought so."

That made Farkas pause in lifting his drink. Then he blinked in understanding, "He's at the Muster, huh?" I nodded, and he smiled, "Good. Vilkas could use the exercise, after sittin' around on his arse all winter."

"He seemed quite trim to me." I observed with polite honesty, receiving a snort from Farkas.

"Spends too much time rubbing shoulders with nobles, him. Should spend more time in the yard with the pups," he took a pull from his mug, sighing with satisfaction, "than finding flowery words in books to use on noble skirts, in my opinion."

Giving the muscly, _very_ manly man in my basement a slow once-over, I raised my tea in toast. "Well, if he is your brother, if you are any indication, some extra exercise certainly wouldn't hurt." Farkas' cheeks colored a little, though he hid it with another – smiling – sip of mead.

Returning his smile, I reached out and took the scroll case-

_Summer rain, snap of pine, spray of salt, cry of eagle, warm autumn wind, musk of fur-_

-and jerked my hand away as an _impression_ of Nature Incarnate, a condensed version of what a Spriggan Earth Mother felt like, swept quickly over my senses with enough intensity to make me gasp. "What…" I looked up at Farkas…

Who looked both understanding and somewhat sheepish, nodding as he spoke, "Yeah, I know. Open it."

Curious, yet wary, I carefully opened the scroll, reviewing the names there written, the top four accompanied by wax seals next to their names.

_Jarl Ulfric Stormcloak_

_Jarl Lalia Law-Giver_

_Jarl Balgruuf the Greater_

_Jarl Siddgeir_

And then there was…

Three lateral slashes, a dot, two angular slashes, and three more lateral slashes with a dot above them. It looked like runes of some sort, ones I'd never seen. However…

There was _intent_ in every centimeter of the slashes. It looked like… not ink. They looked as though they were engraved into the paper, but it remained flat!

I looked at Farkas in questioning surprise. He shrugged and muttered through a blush, "I, ah, might've told the Greybeards about you a little. The head monk signed with the Voice. Oh, and," he reached for the delivery box, "they give back six bottles of mead, brewed on High Hrothgar. Honestly didn't know they did that."

…would wonders never cease.

"Do you know what it says?"

"Hrmm, no. Sounded like _Kyne_, though, which makes sense." I agreed, still a little stunned.

Then I decided not to think about it. I'd seen far and away more fantastic things, in my day.

So I watched in silent bemusement as Farkas gently placed one unlabeled bottle of dark mead after another onto my counter. Once done, I laughed softly, "I have to say, Mr. Farkas, you've outdone yourself." I gave him another fond smile before stowing the bottles away.

He chuckled sheepishly, the sound rumbling, "Was just a delivery, Ms. Khepri."

"Nonsense." I said, returning with his pay in a coinpurse; palming it, I looked appraisingly at the scroll and thought aloud, "I wanted a memento, to remember the beginnings of my business with. And here you are, bringing me priceless treasures." I bit my lip, and held out the coinpurse, "So, this is for the contract. As for bringing me mead and, well," he nodded for me to go on, "proof of the _Thu'um_… if your travels ever bring you near my door, wherever I am, I'll make sure you have a meal and warm bed to stay in."

"…Much obliged, Miss Khepri." Farkas toasted my reward to a job well done, his cheeks flaring red, and we both drained our cups.

"Now then," I sighed, and made my way around the counter, "as much as I enjoy spending time in your company, Farkas, there is a Muster nearby, and the various leaders don't seem to agree on chain of command."

"Hmph." The big Nord grunted, easily sliding from the stool and falling into step behind me, "So you gonna go knock their heads together?"

"Hm? Oh, no. Skitter woke up yesterday. I'm going to bring her, and my prepared swarm, to a tent Bori set up for me near the ruin's entrance. If they haven't settled their differences by morning, I'll begrudgingly set them straight." That earned me quite the deep, rumbling chuckle, which I smiled at, and not only because Farkas was checking me out again.

Three minutes later, he was quietly staring at Skitter's new form. I was beginning to get worried, when he spoke.

"You know… I don't think you'll have to knock heads together _much_, if you front up with _her_ in tow." He glanced at the spiders and clouds of insects swarming over the crags, and added, "Plus the swarm." And he smiled at me, "Makes me feel better about doin' this. With you watchin' over us, everything should go smooth as warm mead."

[**_very_**** good taste, my Queen. He is clearly strong, intelligent, and virile, and will give you many glorious hatchlings**]

I'm fairly certain my embarrassed blush could be seen from Solitude.

**.**

**.**

**.**

**.**

**Next time, we get to the Muster - don't worry, I'm not going into huge detail beyond introductions and a few major moments, and Blackreach will only be three chapters, ****_maybe_****. So five chapters before we get back to Khepri making honey, mead, and eyeing up the beefcake.**

**Thanks for reading!**


	13. 13: The Muster of Mzinchaleft

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Chapter 13:  
The Muster of Mzinchaleft

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In the weeks since the call to arms went out, the courtyards of Mzinchaleft's exterior had slowly transformed from a former bandit fort, to an outpost for Dawnstar's guards, and finally into an _ad hoc_ army camp. So many had come, in fact, that the interior of the ruin had to be used, ostensibly for lodging the Muster's leaders and storing the baggage, as well as providing a forward post for the Dunmeri sappers and a rotation of guards, to respectively watch and scout the nearest deep.

From every corner of Skyrim, they came: soldiers of Windhelm's militia and the Imperial Legion, a platoon of Thalmor and every Vigilant of Stendarr who could be spared. Companions of Ysgramor, Thieves' Guild pathfinders, Calcelmo of Markarth with whoever he could convince, even the Arch-Mage of Winterhold himself.

Were it not for that last worthy, Drevas of Mournhold mused, the Muster might have dissolved into fisticuffs before long.

Arch-Mage Savos Aren took one look at how the Stormcloaks and Thalmor were glaring across the camps at each other, and instated himself as the Muster's official mediator; to great effect, at that. Barring the occasional drunken roughhousing around the evening fires, no blood had been shed between the various factions attending.

Personally, Drevas could scarcely believe it when little Ulfric fronted up to the Sacellum and told him that the Grey Quarter would have its sewers seen to, and certain unsavory characters would be dissuaded from harassing the Dunmer. Apparently, the bull-headed lad finally realized that the Dunmer weren't the racist goldskins, and yet… Ulfric gave him the missive from Dawnstar, and Drevas understood.

Though he was now at the fine old age of 92, the Grand Proven of the Cult of Boethiah's memory was long indeed; never would he forget the horrors of his youth, as a prisoner-slave to a Molag Bal devotee in Black Marsh, and the Dwemer ruin Elsewyr he and his wife – Gods rest her soul – were the only ones to escape from alive, out of an expedition of 103.

He alone, of all the peoples of Tamriel, could appreciate how dangerous the Falmer were, when allowed to breed unchecked.

That a young lass in the Pale would use their Chaurus against them, that the Chaurus were intelligent enough to feel hate for the Falmer… well, it tickled Drevas' paradigm something fierce. A fight would be had, and the Proven of Boethiah would attend.

It wasn't the first time – they'd fought in the Oblivion Crisis, against Dagon's little warband – but for Drevas, it would certainly be the last time. He was old; still spry enough to ensure no one would dare try to fight him, but there it was.

Not that there wasn't hope for Skyrim. It lived in the personages lining the table he was sat at, near the living quarters in Mzinchaleft, puffing on his pipe while Mjoll the Lioness reported what the inner parts of the deep were like from memory, having plumbed the ruin some years back.

Drevas, decked out in a snowy saber cat cloak and his usual ebony greaves, wristguards and boots – cuirasses were for those who sucked at Alteration – was seated on the left of Galmar Stone-Fist, Housecarl of Windhelm, a great bear of a man who was widely considered the second or third best fighter in the Hold, after Ulfric and possibly tying with Drevas himself. On the opposite end of the table, Legate Rikke – who wasn't as muscular as Mjoll but could still tear a troll's arm off, if pressed – met Galmar's displeased glare with one of her own; neither of them liked each other, for whatever reason.

Drevas assumed jilted lovers… maybe he'd suggest it to a Bard sometime.

Next to Rikke was Thalmor Justicar Olquar, who was trying to burn a hole in Drevas' head with his own glare; Drevas had ignored the idiot boy since arriving, and wasn't planning to change that. So what if Drevas destroyed one of their companies back before the War, or assassinated six members of Valenwood's nobility, who the Thalmor had bought? As Arch-Mage Aren, seated midway down the table between them, put it, it wasn't the time to dig up old grudges, but to stand and deliver against the incipient Falmer threat.

Conversely, Keeper Carcette, who was standing next to Mjoll opposite the Arch-Mage, had nearly attacked Drevas on sight. That, at least, he could understand; it was her ruddy _job_, rooting out and exterminating Daedra worshippers. At least she'd calmed down, after Companions Skjor and Vilkas arrived; Werewolves thought they both were, they were more loyal to Skyrim than Hircine, and ensured no one would come to blows over foolishness.

Around the table, but apart from the meeting, were other important personages: Calcelmo and his nephew, along with Sorine Jurard, were examining rubbings and prepping the sappers and pathfinders on Dwemer locking mechanisms; Katria was speaking with the Legionnaires and Stormcloak solders who'd volunteered to be part of the vanguard with Drevas and his Proven; Faralda the Wheel of Flame – though she no longer went by that moniker – was fussing over a Dunmer apprentice at the communications table, where multiple red-black banded candles were lit and prepared; messenger candles, which were paired with other candles in the ruin, as well as the Legion headquarters in Solitude, they would allow the expedition to make reports at a distance, as well as keep the bigwigs happy.

Further into the ruin, down a nearby gated hall that sloped downward, Priests and Priestesses of the Divines set up a medical area, while the Chaurus who'd been in the ruin kept to themselves… unless Khepri was present, at which point they'd cluster around the smiling woman like she was their mother.

Khepri…

Drevas had a hard time believing the girl _wasn't_ a Devotee to Namira, at first. Then the girl opened her mouth, and everything was clear: here was a woman who was experienced in hardship, who decided to lay her weapons down and retire at a young age; yet she would stand to defend the helpless, and was benevolent to a fault.

It didn't stop Khepri from being scary as all _fuck_, but Drevas had met Telvanni wizards in his day. By comparison, Khepri was a ray of sunshine in a grey and clouded world.

In the end, however, it didn't matter. He had _Starfall_, an ebony mace fused with iron from the Scathing Bay – which he took off the aforementioned Molag Bal devotee's corpse – and he had his boys and girls. A veritable army was there in force.

Drevas felt the expedition would be a walk-over, for a moment; he crushed the feeling. Who knew what they were in for, once they penetrated Blackreach…

A moth landed on the map of Skyrim, near the marker that denoted Ulfric's position near Agna's Mill, east-northeast of the Dwemer ruin Raldbthar. Drevas stood and knocked his pipe out as another moth landed on Mjoll's shoulder.

"Going somewhere, _Mournhold?_" hissed the Thalmor _s'wit_. Drevas ignored him and looked toward the room's entrance, where soldiers from outside were slowly funneling in. Above the procession of red Legion kit, blue sashes, and purpose-made steel plate, swirling clouds of insects drifted forward steadily.

"She is here," rasped Drevas, drawing the attention of all the Muster's leaders toward the entrance, right as multiple Frostbites, laden with wicker baskets that crawled with insects, scuttled into view. It said something that most of the rank-and-file men and women smiled darkly or looked hopeful in the face of Khepri's swarm, but they'd had over a week of exposure to the woman's ability, and she'd stayed the previous night in her tent outside the ruin.

Then came the Chaurus, five Hunters with scarves around their shoulders, with another Companion loping in their midst.

"Farkas, there you are!" called Vilkas in welcome, the taller Nord smiling as he approached the table.

But none of the rest of the Muster spoke. Even the two Companions choked in fear.

For, walking behind Khepri and Jarl Skald – who was talking earnestly with the bug-controller – was… _something other_.

It stood taller than any man, and was covered in thick-seeming bronze plates. Its legs were long, and ended in two sharp toes; its stride was… feminine, to Drevas' eyes, with a slight sway of the hips. Their arms were also long, the top set anyway, ending in dexterous-looking claws, while the lower set were just a pair of mantis-like limbs that folded over the creature's groin-area. The head of the creature was crowned with two large bull-like horns, and three smaller, thinner horns behind it. The face was not of Man, Mer, or Beastfolk, but one that reminded the veteran adventurer of… a _Chaurus_. Four copper-green wings and a stinger sprouting from the thing's backside underlined the fact: here before them was a Chaurus unheard of or seen in living memory.

Leaving Jarl Skald near the communications area, Khepri approached the table with the massive creature at her back; she was not smiling, though her eyes alighted with small interest when she spotted Mjoll. To the Keeper, she asked, "A new addition, Keeper Carcette?"

"Khepri the Beekeeper, meet Mjoll the Lioness, out of Riften." The large woman nodded to Khepri and gave the thin woman's right arm a pointed glance. Khepri only smiled. "She's delved this ruin before, and has helped us map out the lower levels with the assistance of the Dunmeri sappers."

"A pleasure, Lioness." Khepri looked at the sketch, then immediately pointed at a spot near the elevator the Muster was to use to enter the depths of Mzinchaleft, "There's an alcove, here. Multiple young Chaurus are being forced to breed there. When they die of exhaustion, they are force-fed to other Chaurus."

"Are there no Hunters in the deep to assist us?" asked the Legate, who kept glancing at the huge being standing stoically behind Khepri, "Also, just what is…"

"You have all heard of Skitter, I believe." Khepri commented truthfully, not looking up from the map. "Skitter, meet the people who've come to liberate your people. Everyone, meet Skitter, the first Chaurus Praetorian to live since the Dwemer vanished."

"Not the first." Drevas grunted, drawing Khepri's gaze. He stroked his wispy beard and growled, "Ran into one like that, but smaller, some… oh, must've been sixty years ago, in Elsewyr."

The Praetorian clicked her mandibles, looking at the insect-master; Khepri's head turned slightly, and she shrugged, "Well, I suppose it _is_ possible, in areas with lower Falmer presence and more hiding places." Drevas nodded agreeably; the girl did know her Chaurus. "As to your concern, Legate Rikke, there are seventy Hunters and three hundred common Chaurus in the area beneath us, along with one three Reapers; these last will be dealt with by Skitter herself, so the rest of the Chaurus turn more readily on the Falmer. In this way, the way forward will be eased. Falmer are at… around five hundred, give or take twenty of the wretched things, most of them clustered _here_," she indicated the second hall, which held a switchback bridge; Drevas figured it might be a marketplace, "Many of the Chaurus are gathered there as well."

"That room is an archer's paradise to defend." Mjoll admitted with a saddened frown.

"Well, it's good that we're not going to cede the higher ground, is it?" calmly stated Savos Aren, a smile touching the old wizard's lips. "Faralda will join the frontline with the Grand Proven, and most of the Legionaries have archery training. Between us and the Chaurus, we'll turn that hall into a Falmer mass grave."

The Legate nodded, though she had that look about her, of someone who was on the verge of a great storm. "My boys and girls do have that training, but _five hundred_… that's more than _double_ what was there two days ago."

"Doesn't matter the numbers, but how fast you can run counter to their moves." Drevas taught the young'ins stoically, adjusting the enchanted rings on his middle fingers – one for magic to ease his Destruction and Alteration abilities, the other for stamina and strength regeneration. Both would see much use in the coming hours, he wagered, "So long as me and mine are dutifully covered, we'll turn that second hall into a killing ground for the Falmer."

"Jarl Skald brought more arrows," pointed out the new Companion, Farkas, "and a group called the Dawnguard, vampire hunters with crossbows, just showed. Another ten hands, plus a former Vigilant, name of Isran."

"I know him." Sighed the Keeper, though she looked welcoming. "He'll have to go in with the second wave-"

"I thought we were using the second wave to put ladders on that wall," Galmar growled and stabbed a meaty, gauntleted finger at the map of Mzinchaleft, "so the little bastards don't flank us."

"They will try regardless." Khepri intoned with saintlike calmness. "Which is why Skitter will keep them busy in the third hall, with any Chaurus who can fight and aren't in the second hall. The Dawnguard and the ladders can go down at the same time; I'll have my spiders climb down behind the second wave with the potions and any healers brave enough to ride them."

"And when they spring from their holes and flank us regardless?" sneered the Thalmor, making a decent point, in Drevas' estimation, the bastard. "If there are 500 here, after all, what does that say about _Blackreach?"_

And then… Khepri smiled a smile that sent a chill down Drevas' spine. It was just a slight curve to her lips, but the look in her eyes, the way she didn't look up from the papers… it unsettled the old Mer.

"The Chaurus have all the tunnels leading to Blackreach; as of today, this ruin is the Falmer's only way to access the surface." Khepri gestured at the map of Skyrim, a few moths leaving her bear cloak to settle on the haphazard lines she'd drawn there, four days ago, "So our primary objective will be easier; when we arrive, the Chaurus in the tunnels will flank the Falmer and root them out of their holes. Blackreach is large, yes, but we have the numbers and the talent to clear it. As for the Falmer below us… my swarm is big enough to deal with their tunnels. You won't be flanked."

"I'd almost feel sorry for the Falmer, were it not for our people's history with the creatures." Jarl Skald grumbled, stepping up to the table between Khepri and Galmer, that Houscarl, Bori, at the Jarl's shoulder, dressed in steel plate. The Jarl looked around the table with a challenging glare, "They have kidnapped and murdered countless innocents, and have been a plague on this fair country for far too long. That it takes a young crippled beekeeper to rile them up," the Jarl scoffed and smiled at said young woman, who ducked her head, the Praetorian clicking its mandibles in a mockery of laughter.

It was funny to Drevas, too. Beekeeper, _pah_. If the girl had been born 200 years ago, Dagon would've spent the rest of his existence jumping at shadows, such was Khepri's potential for destruction. _'Thank Boethiah she's on our side.'_

Then Legate Rikke sighed, drawing everyone's attention, "Before the Legion can fully commit, Miss Khepri, my General would like to know what the Chaurus will do, once this is over."

"Fair." Khepri replied simply, cutting off whatever retort might've been aired by the other Nords at the table. Then she looked at the Chaurus standing behind her, "Well, Skitter?"

The Praetorian looked at Khepri, then turned all eight eyes to examine everyone and thing around them; after a patient moment, where the Thalmor dolt looked increasingly annoyed…

Skitter, the Chaurus Praetorian, clicked her mandibles, hissed, and jittered her wings.

_"…zzzPeace. Alwaysszz."_

Drevas was glad he wasn't chewing on his pipe. It might've fallen on the ground. The news was excellent, of course, but _what in the hells._

Khepri blinked, looking quite surprised herself, and then spoke blandly at the Legate, "Okay, I didn't teach her to do that, but will you accept that as an answer?"

Several people faked coughing – Drevas just grinned – while the Legate just sighed and nodded. The look of stupefaction on the Justicar's face was _priceless_.

Still, there was business to get to, so Drevas clapped his hands and rubbed the together, "Well, now that we've settled where all our factions stand, shall we begin?" he gestured at the elevator shaft, and spoke quickly, "First wave will have myself, Skitter, Katria, Faralda, Skjor and Mjoll, along with thirty Legionaries with shields, twenty Stormcloaks, five Thalmor, and all of my Proven; we'll secure the first hall and pave the way for the second wave, the Companions, Legate Rikke and Galmar leading the ladder teams, plus the Dawnguard and Khepri's second swarm wave, into position before helping the first wave consolidate the second hall…"

And so it went, other members of the council making additions or corrections and occasionally barking an order to a messenger. Outside, the camp followers – five hundred of the two thousand souls who answered the call – began sending out their wares: potions, enchanted weapons and jewelry, and plain simple armor.

After a half-hour of planning, Drevas left the table, shrugging off his cloak as he walked toward the elevator; quite a few of those he passed stopped briefly, in their readying for the first assaults on the Falmer's domain, at seeing the patchwork scars and tattoos littering his muscular body.

He ignored them all. The God-Ancestor had tasked him: make the Falmer bleed for their impiety.

Drevas would.

"Right, you shits!" he yelled once the elevator – and the first wave's rank-and file – came into view, drawing _Starfall_ from his belt and grinning, "Whoever wants songs named after them, get your arse ready! There's a lot of Falmer in need of good ol' Tamrielic justice, and we're here to deliver!"

Drevas' Proven cheered loudest, of course, but he was just the opener; each of the leaders addressed their men and women – except Khepri; he was certain her forces knew what was what without any pretty words – and then the Priests spoke the benediction of the Nine (they said Eight, but everyone saw the winces).

Minutes later, the crowded elevator descended into the deep, the walls covered with clouds of insects and Skitter's bulk as they all went to battle.


	14. 14: In The Blackest of Reaches

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Chapter 14:  
In The Blackest of Reaches

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**12th First Seed, 4E200  
Castle Dour, Solitude  
General Tullius  
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When he'd first heard of Khepri, General Tullius thought his Legate was either an imposter, or had too much mead. A woman who could control every insect in a town? Who could command and _understand_ the horrific Chaurus? To top it all off, the _idea_ that such a woman was not only _not_ a Daedra worshiper, but a valued member of the sleepy community of Dawnstar?

It was madness, Tullius was sure of it; no doubt the seemingly kind woman was playing a nefarious game of some sort with the townsfolk, would sacrifice the entire population to Namira or whatever dark god she was truly serving. That, or she was some secret mage Ulfric Stormcloak found in the wilds, who was being told all sorts of anti-Empire nonsense from that same dissident Jarl's supporters.

Thing was, neither estimation had come to pass.

As the days and weeks went by, and more reports found their way to the General's desk, he began to wonder… who _was_ Khepri, where had she come from, and what had she fought, to truly, by all appearances, seek to lay down her weapons and turn her skills to peaceful pursuits?

Both Tullius and Elenwen – whose counsel he reluctantly sought – were in agreement: Khepri was not someone to cross. The bandits who tried to raid Dawnstar found _that_ out the hard way; most of them were working the mines, having surrendered after being subjected to the one-armed woman's ability.

Furthermore, in the past hours Khepri revealed – through no intention of her own – that she was a one-woman army: she could scout, plan, and assault, with _great _effectiveness, virtually any fortification of Tamriel that Tullius knew of, the only exceptions being the Battlespire and White-Gold Tower – one was inaccessible, the other was the most redoubtable fortress in Tamriel.

And maybe not even those, he reluctantly admitted to himself. Granted, in the last four hours, he, Elenwen, and the High King and Queen of Skyrim, along with their respective – trustworthy – retainers and Skyrim's High Priestess to Akatosh, had been given a blow-by-blow account of just how dangerous Khepri could be, when stirred to violence.

"Fighting in the second hall has concluded; final casualty report is one Proven, one Vigilant, three Legionaries, five Stormcloaks, three Thalmor, and fifty-two Chaurus," reported Kee-Ra, the leader of Imperial Communications in Tullius' Legion, reading from a letter that'd arrived by messenger candle but a moment before, "Falmer casualties are total, estimated at five hundred-twenty; all halls are under Muster control. Calcelmo, the Dunmer sappers and the Arch-Mage's retinue are acquiring artifacts and loot by the pound. Mjoll the Lioness and Drevas of Mournhold have dispatched the Dwemer Centurion Dreadnought in the Gatehouse; supporting members of the Muster have located a cache of weapons and arms there that date back to the Second Era, at least. An access point to Blackreach has been found as well; Katria has enlisted the help of the Thieves' Guild and Calcelmo in her attempts to unlock the gate."

The Argonian woman looked up at the General with a toothy grin, "Khepri is formal: all other tunnels leading to Blackreach are blocked by Chaurus pickets or are filled with the outliers of her swarm. Mzinchaleft is secure."

"Excellent." Tullius' satisfied statement was nearly lost in the applause and other expressions of relief and pleasure that went around the war room, particularly from High Queen Elsif, a known fan of Khepri's deeds.

The General was indeed pleased with this latest report: casualties were light, and other than the Falmer's heavy resistance in the second hall – requiring the Arch-Mage's interference to turn the tide, on top of every Proven, Rikke, Galmar Stone-Fist, the Dawnguard, and half the Vigilants, along with dozens of others and hundreds of Chaurus – the siege was progressing smoothly.

Elenwen, however, was still pensive, and Tullius understood why: the progress' smoothness was owed almost entirely to Khepri.

With her Chaurus Praetorian, Skitter – the sketches of whom made everyone in the war room gape – at the head of the advance, and a swarm of insects numbering in the tens of millions _at least_, Khepri had not only slaughtered at least half the Falmer herself, but ensured communication between the command elements, acting as a runner that was everywhere. With great effect.

Skitter, with a detachment of Legion siege specialists, along with at least fifty lesser Chaurus and a hodgepodge of Muster volunteers, including Katria and the Thieves' Guild, managed to take the third hall with only token resistance from the Falmer, who clearly hadn't been expecting such a move. After securing the area, they'd supported the fighters in the second hall while the remaining Vigilants, the Companions, and the Thalmor, along with the Legion effectives, a cadre of Stormcloaks and various auxiliaries from all over Skyrim, laid siege to the fourth and final hall.

The timing, where the second hall fell before the fourth, allowing those still with strength in them to support the final push, which Khepri herself was present for… it was a magnificent stroke of tactics and battlefield control, one which the Falmer certainly weren't prepared for: there was no retreating into their holes, as was the case with past expeditions; _this_ time, the Chaurus were waiting in force for their enslavers… with a sizable cross-section of Khepri's Swarm supporting them.

Tullius almost felt bad for the Falmer. Then he got over it. _This _time, it was the Falmer being eaten alive, instead of Legionaries.

It was all due to Khepri, who revealed the ability to _talk through her swarm_, using said skill to coordinate strikes and direct reinforcements – and evacuations for the wounded, aided once more by Chaurus stretcher-carriers – to where they were needed, while also tearing at the throats and ears of those waxy scamps.

At this point, Tullius wouldn't be surprised to hear reports, later, of the woman using her bugs to help archers and mages aim at priority threats, or evacuating the wounded with the Chaurus…

But it was all troubling news, to the General.

Khepri was _powerful_, a force all by herself. Yes, she could be kind, she could be gentle, but in every man and woman lived the potential for violence; in his career, General Tullius knew this only too well. That she had laid down her arms and sought a life of peace proved nothing. All it would take would be one attack, one prod of this… _titan_ of battle, and whoever wronged her would have songs sung of their utter demise at her hand; or, in this case, _swarms_.

That she proved the Chaurus weren't mindless beasts, but intelligent creatures with a rudimentary society of their own… well, there weren't words to express how he felt about that, only that _he_ wouldn't – even if ordered – try to arrest or otherwise harm Khepri. He wasn't about to subject his men and women to _that_ kind of battle, Concordat and Elder Council be damned.

Nevertheless, her simple presence at the Muster was enough to force even Stormcloak's Nords and the Thalmor, mainly by pointing them at an age-old enemy and basically asking, _'Do I, a cripple, have to do your jobs for you?'_ (Jarl Skald's words, not his Legate's). Khepri was clearly used to command and comfortable in the role, and with the way the assault was going – like a well-oiled machine, pun intended – Blackreach would be cleansed before the week was out.

Which was good; the shorter the siege, the better it would look in the General's report to the Elder Council, and if a few dozen more Thalmor died in the process… all the better.

A flurry of congratulations, questions, and answers were exchanged, then, between Solitude and the Muster: the attack had been halted, due to the complexity of the Dwemer lock on the outer gate to Blackreach's entrance; the Muster leaders were using this to gather and rest their soldiers, and Khepri was gathering information on the deep.

The news on that last front, however, was sobering to the war room's attendants.

Blackreach was _large_, a cavern the size of a _Hold_, with many buildings and cubbies for the Falmer to hide in; the preliminary report – that is, before the attack on Mzinchaleft began – estimated at least two thousand Falmer might be present, but that number was, clearly, conservative: Khepri reported nearly fifteen-hundred of the corrupted things were digging in near the entrance the Muster was going to use. And that wasn't all, either.

"Khepri also reports Falmer… slaves, in the form of the races of Tamriel," Kee-Ra read with a touch of disbelief in her words, while the various leaders' faces went stony. To everyone's disgust and horror, there was more, "She also states that these slaves seem to use the same screeching language as the Falmer, and are paler than their surface equivalents. Some females appear pregnant, and the Falmer are casual in… taking liberties with those that aren't. No children have been discovered, but the Chaurus have memories of such hybrids being raised further into Blackreach; Khepri surmises that this area is the same as where she senses the Tyrant, which she says is 'restless at her presence'," she cleared her throat and went on, "Calcelmo of Markarth, Drevas of Mournhold, Keeper Carcette, Dawnguard Isran, and Arch-Mage Savos Aren are in agreement: the possibility of the Falmer breeding with the races of Tamriel is not outside the realm of possibility, as they were once Mer, with all that this entails. However, no reliable report exists of these hybrids, at least not in the College of Winterhold; therefore, the expedition will go on, and discover the truth of the matter…"

_'Hybrids… of Falmer and…'_

While Tullius' hands curled into fists, the resident priestess to Akatosh gasped, Elenwen's eyes narrowed dangerously, the High Queen covered her mouth in obvious shock, and Torygg looked ready to grab up his axe himself, the Argonian woman read to the end of the letter, then stood at attention, speaking to the gathered leaders.

"…with your blessing that Oblivion Measures be in effect for any and all found artifacts of the Dwemer, corrupted Falmer, or known races of Tamriel."

"Granted." and Torygg indeed had the power to do that. The High King added stonily, "Keeper Carcette, Arch-Mage Savos Aren and Calcelmo of Markarth, with assistants, will examine all potential relics. Otherwise," he took a deep, tired breath, and finished strongly, "whether or not they exist, if you can communicate with them, or if they're children, whether hybrid or Falmer, spare them if you can." The High Queen put a hand on his, favoring her king with a smile.

"And the rest?" asked Elenwen unnecessarily.

Tullius grunted and looked at the 'Ambassador', "One of the primary objectives of this is the utter destruction of the Falmer in Blackreach, right?" no one argued this, so he told Kee-Ra, "The High King's recommendations, and add, _'If they resist, cut them down.'_"

**.**

**13th First Seed, 4E200  
Forward Command Post, Blackreach  
Legate Rikke**

**.**

Rikke returned to wakefulness at the sound of _another_ Falmer ambush. One that failed, obviously, from the sounds of buzzing, screeching, and flesh sizzling from acid and flames; rising from her bedroll with a groan and smacking her lips, the leader of the Legion's efforts at the Muster went about her 'morning' necessities, only one thing on her mind.

By the Gods, the Falmer were _monsters_.

They also should _not_ have picked a fight with Khepri the Beekeeper, of all people.

Every person they'd liberated from the Falmer's clutches weren't coherent at all; worse, they fought tooth and nail against anyone who wasn't a Falmer. Even the pregnant women and what were clearly teenagers. Both Rikke and Galmar, after a private discussion, gave their greener soldiers to Carcette, Skjor, and Katria, ordering them to secure strategic points in the vast cavern of Blackreach. As for the hardened veterans, like Isran, Drevas, Galmar, and Rikke herself… they did what was necessary.

The thirty-years-young Legate splashed cold water over her face, and thanked Arkay there wasn't a mirror in the small tent she was afforded. The nightmares were bad enough.

Shaking the negativity from her thoughts, Rikke donned her sword and called for a report; one of the guards loudly marching away from her tent's entrance said one _might_ be forthcoming. Her shout may have been lost in the distant rumbling of thunder and screeching, as the Falmer tested other parts of the line and the Muster encircled the foul creature's fortress.

Rikke didn't expect any unfortunate developments, in the three hours she'd slept. Other than the Falmer's continued existence, and the Tyrant's conspicuous absence, the entire adventure was going quite swimmingly.

…although, Rikke mused with a dark grin, the Falmer leadership were probably kicking themselves, for giving the order to slaughter their own Chaurus. When the Muster's outliers found the mass graves, just beyond the trenches closest to Mzinchaleft… well, the result was… educational, to say the least.

To put it shortly, the Falmer were utterly routed by the Chaurus, the large insects ferocious and brutal in their quest for bloody vengeance; and this was as _nothing _to Khepri's fury, the woman actually drawing her sword and trying to go to the front _herself!_

It'd taken six Legionaries, two Chaurus Hunters, and Companion Farkas to hold her back. In her place, Praetorian Skitter _tore_ through trench after hole after hut, the Hunters joining her in dragging the Falmer out, breaking the spines of the shrieking things and tossing them to the younger Chaurus to be torn apart, their bodies piled high to be burnt, and that's if the Muster didn't get to them first. The Vigilants, Dawnguard and Stormcloaks were particularly vindictive in their ruthless slaughter of the Falmer, not that Rikke could blame them; she'd grown up in Skyrim, learnt at her mother's knee of the Falmer's penchant for kidnapping those who strayed out in the night.

Tired of waiting for a report, and eager to get back into the fray with her boys and girls, Rikke exited her tent, leaving the comforting brown walls for the blue-violet glow of the main camp, situated at the foot of a quarter-mile-high purple mushroom, which was on top of the largest outcrop for miles around. Most importantly, it gave the Muster's leadership a fine vantage to observe the great Dwemer fortification the Falmer were using as their final redoubt.

And what a sight it was, at that! A brass lamp the size of a large house glowed like the sun in miniature in the middle of the keep; towers rose up, like the many stone pillars around Blackreach, to touch the blue-white-red speckled ceiling, a full _mile_ into the air. As far as Rikke could see, there were hills and valleys of blue-violet stone, strange grasses and house-sized crystals and Vvardenfell-like mushrooms aplenty, with the odd Dwemer work or sky-scraping pillar or turquoise-watered river to border these scenes. Coupled with the strange, high-pitched keening at the edge of everyone's hearing, these sights gave the feeling of walking somewhere not of Nirn, or even Oblivion, but somewhere… other.

It was still beautiful, a marvel of the Dwemer and the natural world, but Legate Rikke was already sick of it.

It was the _smell_, worse than any ruin she'd ever plumbed. She couldn't wait to see the sun again, and not have to worry about stepping in Falmer shit every twenty paces.

Walking over to the command tent, she found Khepri… glaring with hatred at the map, ignoring a rather well-made breakfast on her left; without preamble, the swarm-controller – and Queen of the Chaurus, as Rikke's men were starting to dramatize – addressed the still-sleepy Legate, "The Falmer are using some kind of measure that keeps insects out of their keep. Calcelmo believes it might be a pest-control feature of the Dwemer, and I am inclined to agree, as it doesn't keep out the Chaurus. It's still a deathtrap inside, however; both I and Mr. Drevas have tried infiltrating the sewers under the keep with swarm and what sappers aren't with Calclemo, but the place is full of Falmer and their slaves, to say nothing of the number of traps they've laid between pickets. You'll be happy to know that one of the Vigilants spotted children, being moved to the largest tower. The sappers laid their own traps and pulled back; nothing that'll break the keep, but nothing pleasant to experience either, if the beasts try coming from the sewers.

"The other commanders are seeing to their forces, getting them ready for the final push, and the Keeper and Grand Proven are preparing a strike force to liberate the youngest hybrids; they have given their recommendations for the Legion contingent there." After rubbing her eyes and yawning, Rikke noticed the woman indicating a slip of paper… that was held down by a steaming cup of coffee on a saucer. It wasn't there a moment ago.

"Mara bless you," Rikke replied gratefully, not thinking about Imp, who was known to do such things, and grabbed some hardtack someone – likely Galmar – had left out, asking through her impromptu breakfast, "How are the Chaurus?"

"Furious," then Khepri blinked, and shook her head with a tired sigh, "But they've always been furious of their treatment. Skitter found a group of survivors near that odd tower with the golden barrier, and Judas liberated a good number with Katria and Calcelmo near the Alftand entrance. In addition to another three hundred commons and eighty Hunters, we've located the final laboratory of the Master Alchemist Sinderion, author of _The Nirnroot Missive_."

"Oh? Anything valuable?"

"Some ingredients and recipes that Jarl Ravencrone's daughter seems rather excited about, including a new type of nirnroot that only grows down here, and an intact Dwemer studio apartment, but little else seems to have survived the millennia since the Dwemer vanished; so far, the best discovery is Ranger Garnag's find of a Snow Elf diary behind a false brick, which he needed Chaurus assistance in locating."

"Which will likely end up in Calcelmo's museum, once everything's said and done," Khepri only gave a tired nod, not looking up from the map or smiling, "When was the last time you slept, Khepri?"

"I dare not sleep down here, Rikke," the young woman replied softly, not meeting her eyes, "The Tyrant is constantly trying to subvert me to its will, and it is… quite practiced at its job. If I sleep, it's likely that the Chaurus will fall back under its control."

"You are their shield." Rikke observed, feeling as though she understood a little better. Still, when Khepri nodded again, the Legate huffed, "Still, you are no use to anyone like this. Have a Chaurus ride you to Mzinchaleft, just for half a day. We can delay the attack that long."

Khepri chuckled, and finally met her eyes; though she looked tired, there was a bright _fire_ in her expression, "I once fought for two days while suffering from multiple burns, an arrow in my shoulder, and blind due to an explosion. I'll be fine, Legate."

Rikke blinked, then groaned as she remembered Khepri was a veteran of some horrible conflict, one that thankfully didn't touch Tamriel's shores, "By the Gods, don't say that in front of the men."

"Don't say what?" asked the Thalmor Justicar, Olquar, arriving through the _thankfully soundproof_ tent-flap, the sound of fireballs being exchanged once again thundering in the distance. His armor had taken dings, and was dirty; she could say what she wanted about the Thalmor, but Rikke thought Olquar was one of the better ones, as he lead from the front and wasn't afraid to get his hands dirty. She still didn't trust him around Khepri, or her men for that matter.

"Nevermind, it was stupid," Rikke waved off easily, giving Khepri a subtle warning glare; the young woman simply sipped her tea with a serene expression, "How are things out there?"

"Getting worse," Olquar spat, but didn't have much time for a further report…

As Drevas of Mournhold walked into the tent, with an _arrow_ sticking out of his bare shoulder and half his body covered in blood and filth. He also looked _quite_ angry about something, not that Rikke cared; couldn't he have at least jumped in a river or something?

Khepri's cup went _clack_ on its saucer, the Beekeeper saying bitingly to the berserker, "Why did you not heed me and go to the healing tent?"

That pulled Drevas up short, the old Dunmer replying icily, "The servants of the Divines wouldn't heal-"

"So you're saying a potion and a bucket of water won't work on you?"

"O-Of course it would-"

"Then go get healed and cleaned up."

"It'll ruin my ability to sneak around."

"Sneak arou- I can feel you with a moth from halfway across this cavern!"

Olquar and Rikke, along with Arch-Mage Aren, Keeper Carcette and Galmar, who'd just arrived after Drevas, watched with hidden amusement as the Queen of Swarms dressed down the quite smelly and bloody Grand Proven, someone who Rikke never wanted to face in battle. That mace of his could send a fully-armored Falmer flying over twenty yards with a single swing, and the mad Daedra worshipper wielded it like it weighed nothing.

That he seemed to be losing an argument with a cripple was rather funny.

"The Falmer can't!"

"If I can smell you with a _moth_, the Falmer can smell you too; or are you underestimating their ambush capabilities? Or, rather," her voice took on a faux-offended tone, "_my_ observational skills?"

"What are you saying?" asked Drevas dangerously.

Khepri chuckled, "How many ambushes have you walked into since leaving the front and ignoring my suggestions?"

"Bitch."

"When I need to be," replied the young woman smoothly, "Go get cleaned up."

Fully shown-up, the Dunmer warrior stomped away, grumbling under his breath.

"Were it anyone else, Khepri, I'd ask that you mind your words around the Proven," Gunmar informed the young woman slowly, with a touch of rare humor in his gravelly voice, "But, honestly, I think he respects you too much to do anything other than gripe."

"If I may?" Olquar interrupted the pleasant distraction with a sour tone, reminding them of the Thalmor's presence, and the job that was yet to be completed. Rubbing the bridge of his nose, the Justicar informed the other leaders, "The Falmer are stepping up the ferocity and frequency of their attacks every hour. Even with the Chaurus bolstering our lines and the efforts of the mages," here, he nodded at Khepri, then the Arch-Mage, "I fear a larger attack might come soon."

"Agreed," nodded Keeper Carcette, who'd been on the 'night' watch with Olquar and Mournhold; all the same, the Vigilant looked fresh and ready for a fight, "Skjor is of the opinion that, as they're backed into a corner, the wretched things might try something dastardly and desperate."

"I agree," intoned Khepri, wincing and glaring at the map, "The Tyrant has been growing more restless, too. The Falmer can't feed it like they used to, and all the Chaurus in Blackreach are under my protection; they no longer listen to it, and that makes it angry. I fear it might try attacking in the next sally."

"Well, if it makes anyone feel better," said the Arch-Mage breezily, holding up an official-looking letter before handing it to Rikke with a smile, "It seems the High King agrees with the severity of the situation. Oblivion Measures have been approved, Legate, with conditions."

Reading the missive quickly, Rikke waited until it'd been passed around once – and the Grand Proven returned, with Companion Farkas in tow – before laying out the final plan, "Calcelmo will be happy, once he's informed. At any rate, Galmar, Drevas and I will accompany Keeper Carcette in clearing that tower; with the Divines' blessings, we'll be able to liberate a few children for you, Arch-Mage. Everyone else will focus on making sure the Falmer are slaughtered to the least and last."

No sooner did she stop speaking, did Khepri stand up, looking grave, "The Tyrant is coming."

The next moments were a whirl of running, shouting last-minute orders, and getting into position; all around, the thousand-strong army of Chaurus – with Skitter perched on the highest and nearest rock to the Falmer Keep – hissed and buzzed in challenge.

Rikke had just arrived at the nearest lines, and was telling one of her Centurions how the battle would go, when it came.

Over the outer wall, a many-legged horror of chitin crawled into view. Twelve legs, each long as a phalanx pike, dug furrows into the ancient stone. Its head was large as a cart, fronted with four huge mandibles around a fell, drooling maw of gleaming teeth. From end-to-end, the thing was long as a Jarl's longhouse if it was an inch. Worse, all over its body were machines, clearly of Dwemer origin, puffs of steam and unholy blue lights glittering in the misty dark of Blackreach.

As its front of the Tyrant's bulk reached the foot of the wall, it screeched, the sound sending chills through Rikke's blood; a second later, it spat a stream of acid at the front lines to her left. The Chaurus and men there barely had time to scream, before they were simply _gone_, melted, armor and all.

Above and behind Rikke, Skitter howled, and the Chaurus surged forward to meet this fell beast, a screaming swarm of countless insects filling the air to join them; on the walls, the Falmer poured toward the defenders like a pale tide of death.

Yet Rikke knew no fear; _this_ was why she'd come to the Muster, barring her orders and the oaths she'd sworn. A fight against enemies worthy of the Red Legions.

"KILL IT!" shouted Rikke over the din, similar orders being issued from the other leaders, the Muster meeting these foes with arrow and blade and spell; the Falmer were as malleable to these tactics as ever, but the Tyrant ignored all blows, even shrugging off Skitter's steel-rending claws and Khepri's all-consuming swarm, as it scuttled right for Olquar and Savos' section of the line. "FOR THE LOVE OF THE EMPIRE AND TIBER SEPTIM, KILL THAT BEAST IF IT'S THE LAST THING YOU DO!"

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Oh yes, I am evil.

Note on Khepri's admission to Rikke: Khepri says 'arrow' out loud, but thinks 'bullet' in her head.

**Next time: The Tyrant**


	15. 15: The Tyrant

GASP! Another update?! I guess I'm not so evil after all, huh? Enjoy!

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Chapter 15:  
The Tyrant

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Drevas of Mournhold  
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After he scattered the skull – and helm – of another worthless Falmer across the keep's courtyard, Drevas ducked into an alcove and let his remaining Proven handle the little bastards; Isran had stepped up, when Rikke fell behind, and most of the Falmer were still outside. Plus, they were irritating pests compared to someone of Drevas' skill, not worth his time or full attention.

Speaking of which, the aged Dunmer turned and glared at the Tyrant; in his head, he called it a Chaurus Reaper Tyrant, as its chitin was the same dull burgundy color of those larger breeds of common Chaurus, and he could see – through the creature tearing at the Chaurus and Muster, its form barely visible under Khepri's Swarm and flashing, air-rattling blasts of the Arch-Mage's lightning – that it was trailing some sort of possibly egg-laying tube or whatever; he'd have to check and see if the beast kept a nest. Yes, it was clearly something the Dwemer had toyed with, in some long-forgotten time, but that was a tertiary worry.

By Boethiah's firm, supple tits was the beast huge. Worse, it was using that bulk to scatter the lines; Olquar's Thalmor, backed up by several units of the Stormcloaks, were giving as good as they got, and old Savos had blown one if the thing's mandibles off, but between the Falmer harrying Rikke and the durability of the Tyrant's cuirass, it looked like they might fold.

Sighing, Drevas carefully unwound part of _Starfall_'s hilt-wrappings, looping a length around his hand while muttering, "Should've brought a ballista or five." He'd suggest the idea to Rikke later; sure, it hadn't worked when he used his Morag Tong connections to front the idea to the Legions, back during the War, but times were changing.

The old Dunmer's thoughts were brought up short by a screaming Falmer charging at him, its body on fire and a Daedric warhammer raised high.

Then a knife sprouted from its face, "THE WHITE TAKE YOU!" and Mjoll ran thundering past with a few Vigilants in tow, finishing the little blighter before leaping toward the next fight like the Lioness she was called. Blinking in pleased surprise, Drevas grabbed one of the Vigilants before they could engage and demanded a report.

"Galmar and Rikke are helping Carcette cut a way into the keep, but they've been held up by the main attack and the Tyrant. We only made it this far due to Faralda and the Swarm," gasped the young man, raising his shield to catch an arrow while Drevas judged the distance to the Tyrant, where Skitter tore a machine from the thing's flesh, jumping clear of a blue-flame explosion that came from the hole; over the abomination's resulting ear-raping scream, the Vigilant continued, "The Companions, Hold guards and-well, whoever isn't fighting the Falmer is fighting that… that _thing!"_

"Chaurus Reaper Tyrant, I wager will be the name," shouted Drevas calmly, taking aim and slowly swinging his mace back and forth, "Go on and help the others. I'll even the odds here and join you." The Vigilant took one look at _Starfall_ and ran to aid Isran, who was getting bailed up in the next courtyard.

Putting that from his mind, Drevas kept spinning _Starfall_ without taking his eyes off the Tyrant; while he kept building up speed, the thing spat another stream of ichor at the top of a nearby hill. The Arch-Mage, probably, raised a shimmering white barrier, causing the attack to fall short of the archers and supporting mages – and likely Khepri too, given how the Chaurus redoubled their efforts to slay the beast.

With a shriek he heard from where he was, near a mile from the bloody brawl, Drevas saw Skitter lunge from fifty yards away to strike off one of the Tyrant's antennae, before leaping onto its back and tearing at more Dwemer implants.

The Tyrant spasmed and writhed, slamming their tail end into the dirt, shaking Blackreach in a tantrum of screeching and wailing pain, furious at the ants chipping away at it. Good news: it was more or less staying in one place. Bad for it…

Drevas grinned, _'We are not ants.'_

Stepping forward, he sent _Starfall_, wreathed now in ashen flames, flying across the cavern with a scream of his own, "PRAISE BOETHIAH!"

With the sound of two huge books slamming together, _Starfall_ struck the beast's left side, breaking a leg, shattering chitin around the two legs next to that one, and sending the massive horror onto its right legs with a howl of pain. The Chaurus took immediate advantage and damn-near covered the Tyrant in their own acidic spit – it wasn't very effective on the chitin, but with the wounds it'd taken that didn't matter much. As for _Starfall_, after bouncing off the point of impact it vanished into the ravage that covered the battlefield around the Tyrant, but that didn't much matter to Drevas; he'd find the old hammer later.

Having done his part to aid the Muster, Drevas turned back to the matter at hand with a feral grin, renewing his Ebonyflesh spell and drawing two glass knives, before meeting the five Falmer Gloomlurkers coming at him with a cry of happy fury.

After all, he was there for a fight, and whether or not they were up to his standards, the Falmer would give Drevas just that.

**.  
Farkas of the Companions  
.**

A shaft of white flame tore briefly out from the middle of the Tyrant after it fell, taking a good portion of the monster's side and two legs in a blast of magic. With how Farkas had been reading the chaotic battle so far, that was probably Olquar's parting shot with the creature, the sorry bastard having been on the wrong side when it fell.

Not that Farkas cared. He was busy running toward the screaming thing, greatsword in a two-handed grip and pure Nordic rage coursing through his veins.

Every head-sweeping blow or earth-shaking step of the beast had killed at least one man or Chaurus, to say nothing of the boys and girls who wouldn't even get an urn of ashes sent home due to its acid; the only consolation Farkas could think of was that they'd given the Muster time to figure out a very important fact about the Tyrant: it could bleed.

If it could bleed, they could kill it.

To wit, Farkas' plan was very simple and straightforward: wait until its head got closer to the ground, then stab it in the brain.

The Tyrant's head was closer to the ground, but it was still alive and kicking; literally, as in Farkas saw an Orc get sent flying by the thing's death throes. Even with Skitter tearing at its wounds, and what looked like _Keeper Carcette_ wreathed in light and shattering one of the Dwarven machines on its side with her warhammer, the thing was still trying to fight.

He'd have to fix that.

Through the arrows and spells raining on the beast, Farkas leapt the last distance as it began to rise, stabbing Skyforge steel at a crack in the Tyrant's chitin with all his strength.

It went in, but not deep enough, given the deafening scream that ripped out of the beast and left Farkas' ears ringing. From its sudden shifting, and Farkas' widening view of Blackreach, it was still rising, and would likely try to shake Farkas off once it got its bearings. He wouldn't give it the chance.

Grabbing the hilts of his sword, Farkas jammed it deeper; it was like cutting into a tree with a dull saw, but the grip he'd taken aided in not getting thrown off, when the Tyrant started shaking its head furiously.

A loud _POP_ and _hsss_ behind him made the Tyrant jerk to a halt and spasm in pain; it might've screamed again, but all Farkas could hear was ringing and the drumming of his heart. The briefest glance showed a glowing crater in the beast's side; either from the Arch-Mage, or Skitter's _explosive_ spit, Farkas didn't know or care for the cause.

Twisting his blade to widen the crack, and sending a brief prayer to the Gods, Farkas grabbed the handle and drove his sword deeper into the Tyrant's head.

He must've hit something important, as the fell beast suddenly stilled, nearly tossing Farkas off with the halt of all movement. As it was still standing, he planted his feet, twisted the sword once more, and tried slashing it out.

The blade broke halfway to the hilt.

_'Fuck.'_ Farkas gaped, only having enough time to think about how unhappy Eorlund would be, when Farkas realized the ground was getting closer. It'd been about thirty feet away before, but it was coming nearer alarmingly fast.

Trusting his instincts, Farkas dove free, ending his fall with a roll; it still felt like his left arm broke, but he managed to rise to one knee easily enough. Just in time to see six Falmer, all of them wounded and being harried by insects, come charging at him.

Gripping his broken blade and gritting his teeth, Farkas prepared to meet them-

Then Khepri ran past, her sword drawn and a cloud of wasps orbiting her head.

What followed was a completely one-sided beatdown; Khepri danced around blows with fluid _deadly_ grace, and wiped out all six Falmer with a single fatal strike for each, all with a calmly determined scowl on her face. It was honestly one of the most beautiful things Farkas had ever seen; his only regret was that he was fucking deaf, so he couldn't hear how the scene sounded. Maybe if he described it to a Bard, someday…?

Farkas shook his head. The job wasn't done, and they were on a battlefield.

Looking around after Khepri finished with the scamps, Farkas found no more enemies nearby; the Muster was pushing the Falmer against their walls, and from the looks of things, those in the Keep were making good progress. Then Farkas saw Khepri stomping toward him, sword stained with blood and an angry look on her face, _'Uh oh.'_

Before she could do more than open her mouth, Farkas yelled, "I'm deaf!" Visibly huffing, Khepri tossed her ornate sword into the mud and muck uncaringly, and pulled a red healing potion out of her tunic; reluctantly downing the small vial, Farkas ignored the throbbing pain in his left shoulder disappearing and prepared to take his licks.

Khepri opened her mouth, then closed it and looked at Farkas appraisingly; after pursing her lips, she swatted him lightly on the breastplate with her prosthetic hand, "Don't ever do something so reckless again."

"I'm a Companion." It was the truth. He couldn't promise her he'd never do something reckless again; sometimes, the job required a little recklessness.

"Does your duty regularly put you in the path of millennia-old horrors?"

After deciding that no, the Draugr didn't really count, Farkas shook his head the negative… then nodded, "Alright, no more running headlong at horrors that could kill me in one hit." It was a surprisingly easy promise to make.

Khepri looked incredibly relieved, before collecting herself, "Good… I'd hate to lose my favorite companion," and she turned away with a blush that could be noticed even in the blue dark of Blackreach; Farkas, meanwhile, felt his mind lock up a little at _not_ hearing the capital letter. Which meant…

Shaking his head, Farkas stood fully and walked over to stand next to Khepri; as an afterthought, he glanced at the ground where her sword fell, "You should get your sword. No telling when they might come back."

"No. They're done for," replied Khepri, looking toward the Keep's highest tower, "All that's left is the children, and the leadership. Besides, I hate swords and fighting."

Thinking on that for a second, Farkas nudged her arm, "Mind if I drop by after this, talk about it over some mead and tea?"

She hadn't smiled, not really, since the Muster began; now, it came back in full, "It would be my pleasure."

Then an arrow flew between them from on high, breaking the moment. Leaving her to see to the Tyrant's corpse – which a good cross-section of the Chaurus were tearing apart, particularly the Dwarven bits, much to an arriving Calcelmo's irritation – Farkas found Vilkas and made his brother find him another blade.

There was still work to finish.

**.  
Mjoll the Lioness  
.**

Mjoll had her answer, to the question of how terrifying the 'Beekeeper' could be. The result was: _do not **ever, EVER, **fight that woman_.

Which was bad for the Falmer, as Khepri was the sweetest young woman Mjoll had ever met, when the insect-controller wasn't in a battle that is. In a fight… well, Mjoll wasn't eager to face her, and she'd be sure to spread that estimation to every adventurer or sellsword she met. The Falmer were safer, and that was saying something!

Taking a deep breath – and cursing the horrors to Oblivion for stinking everything up – Mjoll set her sights on the next room to take; she'd become separated from the main host at some point, and found a passage that led sideways, then down. Few followed her, but the way was longer than it first seemed; after ordering the four Rangers and two Thalmor who'd come with her to guard an intersection and send word back, Mjoll forged on alone.

There were a lot of Falmer on the way, but most of them were dead at Mjoll's feet, up to her shins, in fact… why did some have arrows or knives in them?

"Remind me to never piss you off, lass." Ah, Brynjolf, and it looked like Sapphire, Delvin and… that Breton girl who Ms. Katria was close with, were all with him. Brynjolf was pulling knives out of the ones behind Mjoll, while his two compatriots were kicking bodies and collecting arrows; the Breton woman just smiled and waved over one of Isran's crossbows.

"Thanks for the assist," Mjoll breathed in relief, letting the Falmer skewered on _Grimsever_ slide off to join its brothers; having discarded her meatshield, she sheathed her sword and downed one of the honey-flavored stamina potions that'd become quite popular in the Muster. Dashing the bottle on the ground once it was done, Mjoll began stomping forward once more, "Let's see what they've hidden down here."

As it turned out, quite a lot, but all Mjoll got was the impression of a large cavern, some kind of ornate Dwemer vehicle on wheels, and pale-faced screaming children being whipped and shoved toward a container of some sort. Then the Falmer shrieked and battle was joined once more, except _far_ more fiercely.

Twice Mjoll was knocked over, and twice was she saved, by either Brynjolf or the Breton girl, the former dancing through the fray with his knives, while the latter wielded sword and spell with great effect.

Soon enough, they'd whittled the Falmer down to only three armored beings. With a snarl, the heaviest-armored of them grabbed a child – a white-furred Khajiit girl who yowled and kicked – and put a knife to the girl's throat with a warning shriek at Mjoll, who snarled back hatefully. _'So it's like that, huh?'_

_Hsss._

Then the Chaurus Hunter Imp leapt off the container the children were in, ramming a claw into the top of the Falmer's head; its grip loosened on the Khajiit's fur as it died, upon which the little girl, who couldn't have been four years old, leapt at one of the other Falmer with another loud yell.

The blind creature didn't have a chance, one of Sapphire's arrows going through its throat before it could turn its blade on the little one; a second later, the other Falmer was falling in half at Mjoll's feet and the children were screaming, tearing brutally at the last Falmer in the area.

Heaving a sigh of relief, Mjoll watched some of the children warily – some of whom were watching her and the thieves, who were picking over the dead – and said to one side, "Thanks, Sapphire. I owe you a drink for that one."

"Anytime, Mjoll. Woof," the younger woman ran a hand through her brown hair, staring at the children of the Falmer; now that Mjoll was closer, she could see it. One who looked like a little Redguard boy had longer ears than normal, same as the other races of Men she could see, and all of their eyes were a shade of red, the Khajiit girl's a shocking pink, "How're we gonna explain this to the Muster, Brynjolf?"

"The children or the train?" asked Delvin, staring at the machine, which the Breton was staring at like a piece of meat, "What'd'ya make of it, Sorine?" So that was her name; good, Mjoll wouldn't have to ask it and embarrass herself, when she invited the woman for drinks.

"It's _intact!_ An intact Dwemer Steam Locomotive! I mean, sure," the woman looked further ahead of the machine, where a pair of rails ran into the dark; in the distance, a red glow shone, "we'll have to get more light down here to see what we've really got, not to mention all the other researchers, but this has to be the biggest Dwemer find of this ERA!" and then the frighteningly excited woman turned shining eyes on Mjoll, "Can we use your name in our report as the primary discoverer of this wonder?!"

"Ah, err, certainly," Mjoll shifted uncomfortably, watching as the little Khajiit girl began sniffing and coming closer to her; the little one was still growling and would clearly try to attack, but Mjoll kept herself at ease, "But perhaps we should see to these children first."

**.  
Houscarl Galmar Stone-Fist  
.**

In his time serving Ulfric and Skyrim, Galmar had heard many reports of Falmer kidnappings; usually, those were dealt with by either sending some men to deal with the creatures, or, in the case of bigger raids, letting the Proven know about it. Sometimes it ended in hand-wringing thanks, other times a sorrowful pyre, but the Falmer were a fact of life for Nords; always had been, always would be. As with every storm, Skyrim would weather them; so Galmar always told himself.

After seeing the horrors in the tower – the sight of which had driven several of the Muster to vomit or tears, sometimes both – Galmar couldn't tell himself that anymore. No more.

The Falmer _needed_ to end, and praise Talos, it was nearly at that end.

On the top of the tower, above even the sun-lamp, was a wide circular platform, on which sat a throne. When Galmar arrived – singing the praises of the Alchemists for their stamina potions – with a Proven, Faralda, Isran and Skjor, five Falmer in Daedric kit were waiting around that throne for them, while a sixth sat on the throne, dressed in a dirty yet ornate white armor, some sort of Dwemer crown on its brow.

Its screech of challenge was drowned out by Faralda's booming lightning and Galmar's bellowing war-cry, and battle was joined again.

But _by Ysmir's beard_, that crowned Falmer wasn't dying without a fight! With one hand sheathed in silver lightning and the other holding a Dwarven halberd that burned when it cut, the creature fought with a celerity and skill that few of the other Falmer displayed. Even with its guards dead and the other's efforts focused on slaying it, the Falmer shrieked and defied them, dodging Isran and Galmar's strikes, or deflecting Faralda's.

Then Rikke arrived, so covered in red Galmar couldn't tell what was armor and what was blood, and screamed, "BASTARD!" before leaping at the Falmer elite with such ferocity even the Proven paused, while the Falmer struggled to compensate the new opponent, receiving cut after cut as Rikke drove it toward the edge of the platform.

Well, Galmar wasn't about to let her steal his kill! Circling to the creature's left, he took an opening and chopped his axe at the creature's arm; he got a fork of lightning for his trouble, but he also took the creature's hand off, allowing Rikke to lop off the other limb at the shoulder.

Then the Falmer headbutted her, breaking Rikke's nose and staggering her back; it wound up its foot, a blade in the toe.

Galmar got there in time, taking the beast's leg next; with the backswing, he went to finish it.

Rikke's blade went through the crown into its head, while Galmar's went through the shoulder and parted its heart; sharing a glare with the woman, they both withdrew their weapons, and a lightning bolt from Faralda knocked it off the platform, ending the fight.

"Look out below!" shouted Isran over the edge, the white light around him fading; after a distant crash sounded, the Redguard glared at Faralda, who was sighing in relief, "That was reckless."

"Oh, fuck off." Rikke snarled after fixing her nose; then she grabbed Gunmar's cuirass and-

…and…

Once she was done kissing him soundly, Rikke slapped Galmar on the shoulder and said companionably, "Good work. See me for a drink later," before walking away, saying in parting, "I'm going to see to my men and announce the victory. I suggest all you do the same," Isran and Faralda both agreed that the idea was splendid and joined her in leaving.

Right as Galmar started to get properly mad, he noticed the Proven grinning; to the uppity shit, he brandished his axe and growled, "Not a fucking word."

**.  
Khepri the Beekeeper  
.**

I studiously ignored Calcelmo's continuing pleads, in favor of examining the Dwemer crown Skitter brought me. It was certainly beautiful, a complex filigree of the blue stone – Katria swore it was a rare material called aetherium, which was everywhere in Blackreach, much to her delight – mixed with precious stones, gold, and bronze Dwemer metal.

However beautiful it was, I could feel nothing but disappointment and disgust, looking upon this creation of the Dwemer.

In my mental battle with the Tyrant, I managed to sneak glimpses of the ancient Reaper's memory: it had always existed as a tool of the Dwemer, who'd raised it and modified it to tell other Chaurus what to do. They'd found ways to increase its size, mutating it, and turning it into a breeder, one that would make other, lesser, versions of itself; in a way, the Tyrant was also the first Chaurus Reaper, and the progenitor of all who'd come after.

The crown in my hands was how it was controlled: a Dwemer mage would put on the crown, and the mage's desires would become the Tyrant's desires, through the implants the Dwemer put in the Tyrant's body. It was why I told the Chaurus to break those implants; the knowledge of how to make them couldn't be passed on, even in record.

This small item, this pretty thing, was the reason the Chaurus were enslaved for four thousand years.

Calcelmo had gone silent, and Skitter was still knelt before me, so I asked, "Has anyone found out where the Chaurus come from?" I asked because… I had a suspicion.

"They have white souls, much like any animal of Mundus," Arch-Mage Aren told me; he and Keeper Carcette, along with Calcelmo, were the ones who were supposed to check all suspicious items – like the crown, or the _train engine_ Mjoll found – for taint or corruption. "Therefore, they are much like the guar, spriggan or dreugh: especially intelligent members of Nirn's natural world."

"Why do you ask?" demanded Calcelmo, sounding suspicious. I didn't see the issue; between the Keep, Blackreach's landscape, and a tower that was surrounded by an impenetrable barrier of golden light, Calcelmo had _decades_ of research and cataloging to do, which was the main reason I – and Skitter – suggested Blackreach be seen as a protected dig site under the Imperial Charter,

I told them what the crown was, and what it was meant to do. Both of them sobered up after that, but also stayed silent, so I turned my gaze back onto the item in my hands.

To think such a small thing, could cause so much pain…

[**queen**]

I looked up at Skitter. She was looking right back at me.

Out loud, she buzzed and clacked out more words, "_zzzWe go homezzz?_"

Smiling tiredly – and sighing in relief, as Farkas entered my swarm's range once more – I turned back to Calcelmo and Savos, "The crown was a simple decoration of the Dwemer, and a sign of the Falmer's rule underground. It was symbolically destroyed by Skitter, the Chaurus Praetorian, a sign that they would no longer terrorize as the Falmer did, but live in harmony with Skyrim, as is their desire."

And, ignoring Calcelmo's displeased but accepting sigh, and Savos' hum of approval, I handed the crown to Skitter, who snapped it in half without hesitation before crumpling it into a ball and giving it to another Chaurus to bury someplace hard to reach.

During the inevitable celebrations, which lasted two days at Mzinchaleft, plus another in Dawnstar, I would find many people saw my giving the crown to Skitter, and these people then heard from multiple sources – most of whom were both drunk in celebration and important in one way or another – that it was the Falmer's crown; I encouraged this rumor, and asked Bards to note that Skitter broke it with an anticlimactic _snap_ of metal. They wanted me to elaborate, and quite a few people called for a speech, but by then I was looking forward to making sure Bori got back home safe to Sillte, Imp didn't take too many shiny objects with her, and getting a hot bath ready for when Farkas next visited; as he was bailed up by quite a few people, and there were plenty of others to give speeches, I grabbed my steward and the Hold's Houscarl and managed to herd both back home, on the evening of the 17th of First Seed.

As my house came into view once more, and Skitter slipped deftly under the front porch, a relieved sigh left my mouth. I was glad it was over; the Chaurus were freed, the battle was ended, my sword was recovered – and on its way to a locked trunk, if I had any say – and everything could go back to a nice, pleasant normal.

**.**

**.**

**.**

**.**

**.**

If only Khepri, if only.

Notes:  
Oblivion Measures are a series of protocols that are enacted whenever something horrific and/or Daedric in nature occurs. Only enacted by Governors, the Elder Council, or the Emperor, and carried out by a trusted party – who is 'trusted' varies depending on the region and available experts – it's basically an extermination coupled with a forensic investigation and historic redaction. Traditionally, the Imperial Blades or Penitus Oculatus act as overseers in the aftermath, and the final reports are presented to the Elder Council before being archived at the Moth Priest Monastery in Cyrodiil. Notable reasons for the Measures: Order of the Black Worm (Mannimarco), Mythic Dawn (Oblivion Crisis), Warp in the West (Daggerfall, may or may not have needed Measures due to Dragon Break), and pretty much every instance where Daedric or necromantic shenanigans caused noticeable damage or upheaval.

The Imperial Charter is basically the Tamriellic Constitution. Set forth by Emperor Tiber Septim, it is a set of laws, rules, and regulations that every Province of Tamriel must adhere to, and covers all sorts of things, from basic stuff like farming tithes and the necessity of local garrisons in rural areas, to a Governor's duties and those of the Emperor.

In this chapter, Khepri invokes the Charter's section on dig sites: all newly-discovered and/or cleared ruins are to be seen as research opportunities of Imperial and nationalistic importance, no matter where they are or who they belong to. Therefore: all artifacts present after adventuring rewards are to be considered historic artifacts and treated as such; any and all indigenous animals are to be treated with care and respect, outside of professional testing; the ruin is under the jurisdiction of the Province Governor, answerable to the Emperor alone; finally, only experts on the particular ruin type and their apprentices may be allowed entry, as well as armed security where applicable.

In other words, Khepri convinced the Muster to request Blackreach be turned into a National Preserve for the Chaurus, barred the Thalmor from interfering at all – because the Concordat doesn't mention ancient ruins at all; they usually use the Synod or College of Whispers to do that stuff, with little success – and she used the Dig Site article of the Charter to do it all _legally_.

So concludes the Blackreach arc! After next chapter, there will be two intermissions, then it's back to Khepri and her ventures in the world of business. Thanks for reading and reviewing, everyone! You're awesome!

**Next time: Out of the Rain**


	16. Imp and Skitter's Excellent Adventure!

**As a small treat for my readership, please enjoy a little Omake I wrote up this past Christmas on QQ!**

**.**

**.**

**.**

**IMP AND SKITTER'S EXCELLENT (short) ADVENTURE**

(or, Merida's Plan B for making Khepri do something)

**.**

**.**

**.**

**The Pale, 10 Second Seed, 4E200**

**About 200 yards east of Khepri's house, along the beach**

**Partly cloudy, warm, wind's kinda nippy though**

"Watcha find, Imp?"

This was Bori's life now; sure, he was a Houscarl of the Pale, but really, did Khepri even _need_ an escort to walk down the beach and help Imp collect seashells?

Though that didn't look to be the case, as the no-so-little-anymore Chaurus was digging at the dirt, Khepri simply watching and brushing some hair out of her face. The moonstone prosthetic looked nice against her signature blue-white tunic and boots.

_'Could be worse,'_ the bored knight of the Hold thought, glancing over at Skitter, who looked just as bored as him; ice and fire, sometimes he was still struck by the size of the Praetorian, horned bronze chitin and all, a body built to protect. To see the big, loyal girl counting blades of grass while lying on her belly.

Bori sighed. Skitter buzzed the approximation of a sigh.

Sure, it was relaxing... but it was _boring_.

_Thunk. _"Oh, a chest."

"Thank the _gods_," Bori groaned, dropping to the rocky shore with a thump, Skitter doing so with more clacking and care; she was damn near the size of a grizzly, after all, "Let me take a look first, Lady Khepri, make sure it's not trapped."

"Oh, there's not much inside it," waved off Skyrim's youngest Thane with a smile while Imp tried - and completely failed - to unstick the chest from the sands, "Just a large rock, some jewels and jewelry... and I'm pretty sure that axe is enchanted," she finished while turning thoughtful, "Warm, but not hot like a fire enchantment. Turn Undead, maybe..."

Looked like she and Brelyna were still exchanging letters; Bori would have to visit Cristus, update the betting pool.

Skitter plunged a forelimb into the sands, then pulled the chest onto the beach. Imp at least had the sense to let go. This time.

Bori knelt by the keyhole and grumbled, "Still, you don't know; might've trapped it with magic."

"Skitter says it's clean."

Bori glared at the huge Chaurus. The Chaurus looked right back at him and _buzzed_. He sighed, then stood back from the chest, "Have at it then."

Imp chittered excitedly, and Khepri smiled, "Course you can have first pick, Imp, you found it!" Skitter put the tip of her left forelimb in front of the lock; the claw split into three sections... then she stabbed all three into the lock. The lid popped open with a _crunch_.

Bori still kicked the water-logged chest open and looked over the offerings, just to make sure: a white marble boulder (looked a little odd, but people had oddities in their homes; just look at Desmerius with his cactuses), he couldn't see the jewels but there was a gleam of gold, and, "Oh, dwemer. Good catch, Imp." Chitter!

"People really just bury stuff like this around?" Khepri asked with a tilted head, while Imp decorated her antennae with a couple gold chains; Skitter looked unimpressed, "I mean, we saw chests in the ruin, but this just seems... cliche."

"Not as much as you'd think," shrugged Bori, "Not common, mind, but people who served in the Legion, if they've got nothing left, bury their stuff out in the wilderness. S'why you'll find one or two in a bear cave sometimes. There's a rumor that Nirn herself refills some of the chests, but," Thane and Housecarl shared an eye-roll, then the latter gestured at the chest, "Go 'head."

Khepri smiled, "Such a gentleman. Your wife is lucky," she looked at the murky water; well, she was wearing gloves already, "That stone does look nice..."

"zzzQueenzz."

Both Bori and Khepri looked at Skitter; the Praetorian gestured at herself, then pointed at the rock.

Khepri blinked, then smiled, "Sure, Skitter. It _would _look great in your den." Bori had to agree; the white _would_ go good with the glow-stones.

Skitter chittered happily, and picked up the stone in a three-clawed grip.

.

The Great Alpha She Who The Queen Named Skitter - more commonly known as Skitter, or Queen's Guard among her fellows - picked up the pretty white stone her people's Saviour gave to her. She would treasure it alw-

**"A NEW HAND TOUCHES THE... wait. Are you a CHAURUS?!"**

If Skitter could have blinked, she was certain she would have; Skitter did stiffen however. Voices in one's head never meant anything good, but at least they weren't the hated _Tyrant_. She sent a look to The Annoying But Useful She The Queen Rightfully Named Imp; the other She showed no signs of corruption or subjugation, so it could not be the _Tyrant..._

**"AH, YES. MY SISTER, MEPHALA TOLD ME ABOUT THAT ONE."**

Skitter chittered worriedly, and spoke to the Queen, "Queen, there is a voice in my head. It says that Mephala is its sister."

Khepri, the Great Liberator, looked very surprised indeed. Then her beloved Queen's visage hardened, "And who precisely does this voice belong to?" Bori, her Queen's butler, drew the puny toothpick on his belt, his own face hardening; Skitter mentally scoffed. She was certain her own claws, which could pierce steel, could not break the stone in her claws.

**"KINDLY TELL YOUR QUEEN NOT TO FEAR, FOR I, MERIDIA, HAVE A TASK FOR HER THAT IS BOTH JUST AND RIGHTEOUS!"**

If Skitter's face could've gone flat, it would have; instead, she fell into a relaxed pose - so as not to worry Bori because Bori worried a lot - and spoke into the Hive Mind, [**it says it is Meridia, Queen, and that it has a task for you.**]

"I'm _retired_, as I keep telling people," her just and clever Queen deadpanned.

[**the Queen says no.**]

[**yes, go away!**] chirruped Imp, somehow managing to pull off a glare without eyebrows, waving a claw at the rock.

Skitter hoped she could keep the rock. It was still a very nice rock.

**"UGH, Sanguine said this would be difficult. OKAY, CHAURUS. THERE IS A BLACK THREAT TO SKYRIM'S PEOPLE, ONE WHICH HAS DUG INTO MY ABANDONED TEMPLE LIKE A TICK.**"

[**the Queen said no, whatever you are.**] Skitter was getting rather tired of the voice. Maybe if she hit the rock against another rock, or Cristus's beard?

**"I AM ASKING _YOU_ TO DO ME A SERVICE, CHAURUS. WILL YOU PURGE THIS THREAT FROM SKYRIM?**"

Imp looked at Skitter. Skitter looked at her annoying but adorable little sister.

[**queen?**] [**queen**.]

Again, and not for the last time, Skitter wondered what blinking felt like, [**Queen.**]

Her Queen turned from talking to her butler about the remaining contents of the chest, "Yes, Skitter?"

Skitter spoke, with her mandibles and wings, "Queen, Merida is asking if I will go to her temple and destroy a black threat to Skyrim."

Queen Khepri and her butler stared at Skitter. Skitter still did not know why humans kept their mouths open like that when Skitter spoke sometimes... or when Imp did something reckless, like play with that ice wraith. Wait...

"She wants... you, to go on a quest?" Skitter nodded her regal, beautiful head in reply to her Queen's question. Skitter knew what a quest was; her Queen read her books out loud, sometimes, so the Chaurus could hear the stories within.

**"I DO NOT HAVE ALL DAY, YOU KNOW."**

[**strange voice**] [**impatient**]

[**apologies**] The Queen shook herself, then squinted at Skitter, "Well..."

"Khepri, no," rudely objected the Queen's butler. Skitter hissed at him, so he would remember his place.

"Stop that, Skitter, Bori's just worried for you," Skitter nodded, but did not stop staring at her Queen, who asked, "Do you want to?"

"It is a threat, Queen. We swore." Imp nodded, sending [**agreement**] and [**understanding**] through the Hive Mind.

**"Finally, THEN BRING MY BEACON TO MOUNT KILKREATH, WHERE MY TEMPLE RESIDES, SO WE MAY SPEAK FURTHER!"**

Skitter related the actually quite irritating and loud voice's message to her Queen, who looked and felt mightily [**displeased**] at the information, "No. You will explain _now_, or the rock will go back in the-"

**"EITHER BRING MY _BEACON_ TO MOUNT KILKREATH, OR THAT _BEACON _WILL INCINERATE YOU ALL. Calling that lovely gemstone a _rock_, no respect these days."**

Skitter rather liked not being incinerated. Her sister, Queen, and the butler all agreed with this sentiment.

.

The Amazing and Talented She Who The Queen Named Imp did not like Mount Kilkreath very much. The marshes were nicer, and her Queen had gathered a sizeable following from the warm wetland to assist her noblest knights, Imp and Skitter, the Annoying but Awesome Older Sister Who Can't Fit Through Doors Anymore.

Indeed, there were many new sisters and brothers and pretty plants and stupid bears hidden in the marshes. Her belly was full, she'd found two dens to donate a few eggs for a lucky couple - because Skitter couldn't lay anymore - and she'd found more than a few shinies for her Queen and the butler Bori, who was carrying all their stuff!

It was a better adventure than facing the... the _thing _in the bad place. But the thing was dead, and the marshes were great!

But the Queen couldn't live in the marshes. Her home was among the people who shared her skin. But Imp was _sure_ that _someday_ she'd find the right shiny to convince her Queen.

And then they left the marshes behind, which made sense to Imp even though it made her sad; no mountains in marshes, and they had to go to a mountain.

Now that they were _at_ the mountain, though... Imp decided that she _hated_ mountains. But a statue was there, and Skitter still had the pretty marble, which she was explaining the use of to the group.

[**I am to place the... beacon on the altar, and only then will Merida speak to me**]

"That is silly," shivered their Queen, which made Imp all the more irritated; the Queen was risking life and health and the strange voice wanted to stand on ceremony? When Imp got her claws in the strange voice, "That is _completely_ unnecessary. I can _see_ what's inside the temple just fine!"

"And?" grunted the butler unhappily; Imp did not blame him. He was far from his chosen mate. She could sympathize, as she hoped The Bulky He Who The Queen Named Bentley did not discover her shiny collection.

Khepri looked between Skitter and Imp, then looked northward, "Skitter, just put the beacon down, then take Imp to that cave in the woods. Bori, get a fire going and set up the tent, please," their Queen sighed in [**resignation**], "It appears there's a necromancer below."

The butler spat in disgust and got to work. Skitter sighed and set the rock down, then beckoned her shivering sister, [**come. we explore for Queen**]

Imp just hoped the cavern was warm.

.

**"Okay, I think we got off on the wrong foot... talon... I am not familiar with insects, you understand. Tis not my province."**

[**chaurus. not insect, strange voice**], replied Skitter to the now much quieter and more pleasing voice, lounging at the entrance to the cavern while her little sister savaged the wolf that dared attack them.

**"Chaurus, then. I am Meridia. I have followed your race for some time. The deeds you and yours have struck against the Falmer pleased me greatly, hence why I was willing to... bend the rules, as it were. We don't usually deal with... Chaurus, or the other chitinous races of Nirn."**

Skitter did not answer, thought the voice's words were nice to hear. She did not trust it. Her Queen was her liege, and no pretty words would shake her faith. Or Imp's.

**"You Queen already dealt with the necromancer, you know. Oh, yes. The reason she has not contacted you is... because she's **_**resting**_**. Goodness! Try to get someone to do a good deed, and they get all suspicious! Who do I look like, Molag?"**

Skitter did not think the voice looked like anything. It was only a voice.

[**sister**] Skitter looked over at her little adorable annoying - that was a walking skeleton. With a sword.

Luckily, Skitter could make _very_ good unamused faces, [**slay it**]. Her sister did so with much delight, then used the skull as a plaything.

**"Well at least _someone's_ having fun slaying undead... Know any good jokes, Chaurus? Skitter, was it? I have a bet with Vaermina to settle."**

The Praetorian was about to emulate her Queen and take a nap when magic flared in her enhanced sight. A distant chanting made itself known against her antennae, one which even Imp noticed, as she jerked away from the tunnel that went deeper into the nice warm cave.

Her little sister looked at Skitter, [**trouble**] [**investigate?**]

Skitter nodded, then crept after her much smaller and stealthier sister.

**"Hmm? Found something? Oh, is it a secret cult to the King of Worms? _Please_ tell me it's a secret cult to the King of Worms, I want to _smite something._"**

Skitter wished the voice would stop distracting her...

[**alarm**] came from Imp, right as Skitter's eight yellow eyes beheld one of the biggest caverns she'd ever seen - Blackreach didn't count - a cavern that held an entire _fort_ within its depths! Blue-black magic was swirling around the central tower, and a fell chant of many voices filled the air.

_"Wolf Queen, hear our call and awaken. We Summon Potema!"  
__"We Summon Potema!"  
__"Long have you slept the dreamless sleep of death, Potema. No longer. Hear us, Wolf Queen! We Summon You!"  
__"We Summon Potema!"_

Skitter did not know who this Wolf Queen was - wolves weren't very dangerous, but Khepri was Queen of the Chaurus, and could be very frightening indeed, so... - but, in addition to Skitter's own estimation of the situation at claw, the voice didn't seem to like her very much.

_**"STOP THEM! IN THE NAME OF ALL THAT'S GOOD AND PURE, STOP THEM!"**_

Skitter looked at Imp. Imp looked at Skitter.

Skitter pointed at the top of the tower with a claw, whose chitin had rent the Tyrant, [**evil**] [**exterminate**]

Imp bounced happily, [**agreement**]

Her little sister slinked into the shadows, while Skitter...

The Praetorian noticed a draugr skulking about below; Skitter lunged down and crushed it, then bashed through some weak stone. A Bosmer squealed in terror and tried to set Skitter on fire. She ate his head, then heard the growl of another draugr above, then a thud. Imp's claws clattered about while the She broadcasted [**humor**] to her sister.

Inside, Skitter felt some disappointment; why could conjurers not use daedra instead of weak draugr? Maybe they got their names mixed up when starting out?

**"THEY ARE NOT MISTAKEN, THEY ARE SIMPLY NECROPHILIACS! _KILL THEM! CRUSH THEM! DESTROY THEM! EXTERMINATE!_"**

Skitter did not know what a 'necrophiliac' was, but Skitter knew what a necromancer was (a bad thing that should die), so that made the situation _doubly_ bad. [**haste**] Skitter buzzed to her sneaky little sister, who dutifully moved to deal with the ritual group, while her big, strong sister provided a distraction.

Several of the necromancers - and one of the draugr - gaped in horror at the grizzly-sized bronze Chaurus Praetorian, as the noble creature burst through a stone wall and let out a bowel-loosening screech of [**hatred**] and [**fury**] before pouncing upon the hapless screaming meatbags-who-were-not-off-limits.

Skitter was _very good_ at distractions.

.

_"We have an intrudeeEEAAAAAHHHH!"_

As Imp sliced a forelimb through the groin of a very, _very_ ugly human, Imp delighted in the appreciative screams of the human female who was being treated to the sensation of Imp's acidic spit as it melted the flesh of her upper body. For good measure, Imp knocked the woman over the side of the tower before she could heal herself, then lunged at a fool who tried to run.

They always tried to run, but Imp was always faster. But Imp could eat later, as one of the bad people was still trying to fry her. He had very good aim, too; Imp was nearly hit twice before she started focusing!

Then Big Sister reached over the side of the tower, grabbed the dangerous person's robes - why weren't they wearing armor? Butler Bori said armor is a must, living in Skyrim, but then these fools weren't wise like butler or Queen - and tossed the fool screaming to his fate.

[**joy**] chirped Imp, before noticing something blue and glowy over on a table, with some other cool stuff that Queen Khepri the Wise and Maker of Delicious Treats might like! Shinies!

Another scream came from below as Imp poked the bluish-white crystal, then put it in a nearby satchel as the sound of splintering wood, flashing spells, and more terrified screams came from below. Big Sister didn't need to distract them anymore, but Big Sister Skitter was also bored a lot lately, with no threats to their Queen. Imp decided to leave it alone.

Besides, there were shinies to collect!

.

The snow had thankfully stopped the next morning. Which was good, as I didn't much appreciate having my time wasted by a lazy Daedra. Yawning, I exited the tent...

And came face-to-face with Imp, who was now wearing a gold and ruby crown? "Imp?"

[**sister**] [**champion**]

What.

Imp moved to one side, her overfilled knapsack full of trinkets rattling...

"Skitter, I said go wait out the storm in the cave. Where did you get that glowing sword?" I asked my biggest girl, who'd used said sword, held in her mandibles, to dry the campsite.

.

Meridia sat down at the bar. Sanguine, that _fucker_, was grinning like Saturnalia had come early, "What'll it be, my lovely sister?"

"The strongest thing you have. I need to forget the last few days. Never again."

Mephala walked in with a grin that was _somehow_ bigger than Sanguine's, "Meridia, _darling~_, I heard you made a _Chaurus_ your Champion! Oh, how the mighty have-"

"**Finish that sentence, and I will raze half your webs**." The Queen of Infinite Energies then spent the rest of the year getting totally _plastered_.


	17. 16: Out of the Rain

Oh, hey, I'm updating! Enjoy the latest chapter, everyone!  
(it's so very fluffy, pun intended~)

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Chapter 16:  
Out of the Rain

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**.  
20th First Seed, 4E200  
Dawnstar  
Khepri the Beekeeper  
.**

There were a few surprises waiting for me, when I returned home from the Muster. Most significant was the awning and shutters that were added to my front porch; Helga, the Frost-Glow family's matriarch, insisted on the addition, free of charge, as the next months would be filled with rain and the occasional thunderstorm. "The month isn't called 'Rain's Hand' for nothing," was how she put it.

I suppose it's because I was known for relaxing on my porch in the evenings with a cup of tea, occasionally striking up a conversation with whoever walked past my house – usually the guards, though it wasn't rare to see curious children playing on the beach in front of my home, or asking me about some exotic insect they read of in a book. My habits, and my deeds, were worthy of selfless reward in the eyes of Dawnstar's populace, it seemed.

Now that it was raining, I was rather thankful for the impromptu gift. The smell of salt and rainwater wafted through the wooden shutters, their slats open to let in the scents and sounds of the first true rainstorm since my arrival in Skyrim; a warm pot of water, some teas from Valenwood – gifted by a thankful Legion Ranger – the famous historic fiction _2920, The Last Year of the First Era _by Carlovac Townway, and a basket full of spiders were my company that pleasant, rainy evening.

Of course, Skitter was under the porch, but my big, heroic girl was content to watch the rain and quietly [**wonder**] in the Hive Mind. And besides, my spider research was keeping me quite busy.

The spiders were part of my continuing experiments into silk strength, as my long-term plans involved producing silk for clothing, or other items like tapestries; nothing commercial, no. That was limited to my honey production, at least once I was in possession of a stable base of operations, possibly with employees to aid in running the apiaries. As for the silk, such production needed hard limits, even with an optimal environment. Too much, and I would upset the established silk producers in other provinces, which would both destabilize economies and make more than a few people want to kill me; additionally, if I spent all my time working, I wouldn't have any time to myself, and that simply wouldn't do. Nevermind the strain placed on my body, both by business and, well, _business_; there were other pleasures I wanted to seek while I could.

No, my silk would likely be limited to heirlooms, gifted to close relations, like the people of Dawnstar; Jarl Skald would probably love a new banner for his hall, and the Frostglows were just so helpful… which reminded me to keep some silk for _my_ family, should I start one…

A family…

I felt a smile form on my face as I continued reading about the end of the First Era; beneath my porch, Skitter rustled her wings and watched a stream of water winding toward the Bay though the alley next to my house, [**fascinated**] by the colors and hues of the world, even after nearly a week of enjoying her new sight. The Chaurus near the grotto were frolicking in the rain, some of them for the very first time.

I'd added another ten commons and four Hunters – two stalwart boys named Chevalier and Defiant, and two quick girls, Rachel and Amy – to the herd; these were the ones who served me the most in the Muster, or were too wounded to survive staying with their brethren in the deep dark of Blackreach. All of them, from the little tikes I found in Frostflow, to the protective old boy Defiant – who was the one Bori saw kill a Shaman, before the Muster began – were [**joyful**] and [**awed**] at the water falling from the sky.

But even this, I admitted to myself with a sad sigh, wasn't what I thought of when musing on the idea of 'family'.

It was… a concept almost too large for words. My own house – preferably a larger abode than my current residence – and a husband to welcome me home from the store, where I spent my days selling honey, beeswax, spider silk, and other insect-related products, along with Alchemical mead… or, would a house built _into_ my place of business be more appropriate?

No…? No. I felt that business and family shouldn't be allowed to mix _too_ much. The commute shouldn't be too long, however, so that neither my husband nor children should be kept waiting for my return home. Skitter would likely be able to assist, there. She was fast over ground, using her grasshopper-like legs and beautiful wings to propel herself with incredible speed; likely, such mobility would be of great use, especially on the plains of Whiterun.

But there were just so many _unknowns!_ Would my husband be averse to cooking dinner, in the event I needed to work late, or would another solution present itself? What were the choices for education and higher learning in Skyrim?

My readings said there were prestigious universities in High Rock, Morrowind and Cyrodiil, but, other than the College of Winterhold and Bard's College in Solitude, Skyrim seemed rather lacking in notable academic establishments; homeschooling or community learning seemed to be an accepted norm in Dawnstar, but how did, say, Whiterun handle this issue?

After I brought up my concerns about large-scale beekeeping with Jarl Skald, and some further conversation, he commissioned a manor house for me in the Pale's southernmost reaches, as reward for my recent deeds – "Whole country can sleep a little easier, thanks to you. Also, that area's better climate for your work than these icy cliffs," were his exact words – so it was more likely my children would commute with me to Whiterun, most likely upon Skitter or another Praetorian's back, so they could spend the day among other children their own age. Farkas would certainly have no trouble escorting my… our…

I closed my eyes and thought of him: gruff, like all Nords, but thoughtful. He never loomed over me, even when standing close; though I knew he was a Werewolf, there was no feeling of violence or wrongness about him. Strong, soft-spoken, and quite the gentleman.

He also didn't have fleas when we first met.

I wanted him. More than physically – though I would never complain about the rugged warrior's physique – it was by Farkas' hand that the Tyrant's incessant mental wailing was silenced in the Hive Mind. The absence of its horrible suggestions and screaming was… unbelievably relieving, and not only for myself; with the Chaurus Reaper Tyrant gone, all the remaining Chaurus had quickly become much more docile. Oh, they were still violently territorial, especially if someone tried touching their eggs without permission, but they no longer actively attacked everything on sight; indeed, there were reports coming from all over Skyrim, of the Chaurus leaving Falmer corpses and salvage at the entrance of their caves, with commons seen stripping bark off of evergreen trees and carrying their bounty into the depths, or Hunters doing the same with game, like bear or elk.

It was all thanks to Farkas; in doing his duty, he brought a peace unlike any seen before in Skyrim's dark reaches. He eased my mind, made me feel… safe.

_When was the last time I felt this way?_

I… couldn't remember. Not fully; there was _someone_, but...

I couldn't bring myself to be irritated by not remembering, but this fact, not knowing the feeling _security_ when it came from another person, still made me quite frustrated! How was I supposed to explain how I felt, and my intention to become seriously involved with him, when I had never experienced such things before?!

[**Queen, you are troubled?**] came Skitter's mental voice through the Hive Mind, an undertone of [**concern**] edging her otherwise calm thought-speech; the other Chaurus were either too distant or too preoccupied to notice my internal dilemma, or Skitter addressing me.

Huffing, I set my teacup down and examined my weaving spiders; the silk squares and cords I was having them create were, of course, being produced steadily, though it'd still be a few hours before the samples were completed to the point where I could examine them. I could've sworn it never took this long, before; maybe it was like with the Frostbites: thick, strong, but taking a long time to produce.

Out loud, I spoke to my biggest girl, "I'm… worrying, likely for no reason, Skitter." Surely Farkas felt the same as I, if not similarly, given his regular checking me out?

[**…Queen, your thoughts are obvious to me; your chosen male is very agreeable, as I informed you earlier**] Skitter told me with dry [**amusement**], and [**approval**] in regards to Farkas.

Sighing, I explained patiently to her, "Yes, physically, he's very attractive and fit, and from a Chaurus' standpoint, that's all a female need know when choosing a viable egg sac… but Men, Mer and Beastfolk do things differently, Skitter, when we choose our mates. There's not _too _much different, but the peoples of Tamriel definitely have more… mating rituals, than the Chaurus. Farkas and I are simply engaging in the early stages of this ritual," and speaking of the beefy Nord, a certain arrangement of insects had just entered my range; moving Twinkie into line of sight, I saw Farkas steadily slogging through Dawnstar, a cloak over his head and shoulders, trying to protect a canvas parcel held in his arms.

[**I do not understand, Queen**] Skitter informed me, mild [**frustration**] bleeding into our link, [**I am aware that the bipedal races of Tamriel do things opposite to Chaurus – that is, the _male_ seeds the _female's_ egg sac – but you are both very attracted to the other; why not have him seed you, before you bleed once more? you should not risk another panic of the Hive Mind; the new cousins we have added may not understand that you are not injured, and your hatchlings will certainly be as beautiful and strong as both you and your mate are, my glorious Queen**]

Were it not for the lantern hanging outside my porch, Farkas would've been able to find his way to my house through my blush's intensity alone. "Skitter!" I chided under my breath, trying to keep my embarrassment down and organize my thoughts, "That was _once_, and your new cousins have already been informed. Also, the mating rituals are seen as necessary in our culture; when my people mate, Skitter, it's expected those mates remain with one another for life, so they might both raise and give guidance to their children, until they mature enough to make their own way through the world."

My biggest girl quieted in the Hive Mind, [**considering**] what I told her, before replying, [**but, Queen, the community aids in these teachings, do they not?**] after verifying that, yes, this was how things were done in Dawnstar, Skitter huffed audibly, [**biped mating rituals are very strange. [love] is shared by the community with each new hatchling, yet a female cannot have multiple males, or a male with many females?**]

"We will discuss this more later, Skitter," I assured the – for now – only living Chaurus Praetorian, abandoning my book briefly to gather a towel from the upstairs linen closet. Callidus was with Liora at the moment, the young woman passionately yet gently expressing her worry at his absence, through the act of sex. It was…

Well, they couldn't do anything that I fantasized doing, especially when it came to Farkas, mostly because Cal's back was poorly, but it was endearing nonetheless.

I'd have to ask Cal when he was going to propose, but later. In the morning. He was a little busy whispering sweet nothings into his lover's ear, as she keened and ground herself into his lap…

"You know," I said as Farkas stomped up my porch – Skitter let out a growl of [**irritation**]; the Nord was more considerate after that – shaking himself off before stepping fully onto the covered platform and looking at my wry smirk with a sheepish expression, "If making honey and honey products doesn't work out, a career as a romance author might also be a good business opportunity for me. Between my insect abilities and the people of Dawnstar, I have several novels' worth of material already." I giggled lightly at Farkas' replying snort of humor, "Good evening, Farkas."

"Evenin', Khepri," replied the Companion and Hero of Skyrim, shrugging off his cloak; after giving the porch one more light stomp, "Heya, Skitter," – _buzz_ – the man hefted the bundle in his arms, grimacing a little, "Muster's finally breaking up; I'm headin' back to Whiterun with Skjor and Vilkas tomorrow afternoon, so I brought all the gifts and awards they wanted to give you, 'fore you made yourself scarce."

I shook my head and sighed, "As I told Jarl Skald, Legate Rikke, and Mr. Galmar: I don't want awards for my part. The Chaurus being left in peace is enough for me," nevertheless, I took the bundle, a collection of wooden boxes, and held out the dry white towel for Farkas with a warm smile, "And really, what would a speech from me have done? I already congratulated everyone."

"I think it's cause you didn't stay for a drink. By the way, Drevas says you owe him one, and to head over to Windhelm one day so you, him and Jarl Ulfric can have a mug at the inn," replied Farkas while drying his armor and hair, which was pulled into a ponytail… and there was a purple and gold braid, with a dragon pin, encircling his left shoulder; noticing my gaze, he grunted unhappily, "When the High King found out it was me who felled the Tyrant, he told the bigwigs in the Imperial City. They gave me this thing, which is called the 'Champion's Ribbon'. Apparently it makes me a Lord or something."

"You sound like you could care less," I observed with a grin, propping my door open and bustling back into my house to retrieve some mead and a mug; over my shoulder, I called, "And I rarely drink, Farkas! Gods, can you imagine what I'd do with my swarm, were I drunk?"

"Heh! Butterflies everywhere, I'd wager," replied the large, handsome man, having sat in the only other chair on my porch; accepting the mead with thanks, I reclaimed my own chair and picked up a small square box with the heraldry of Solitude on the lid while Farkas spoke, "And I really don't care. It's just an honorary thing. It doesn't give me any land or a seat on the Senate, just a money prize for killing something especially big and nasty. There was even a part that said they couldn't give me land, because it wasn't killed in Cyrodiil, and because Ulfric still won't budge on Talos worship… tch, politics." He took a gulp of mead while I grimaced.

"Unbelievable," I shook my head with disgust, then smiled cheekily, "If it makes you feel any better, Jarl Skald is constructing a manor for me, on the southern border of the Pale, near Whiterun. There's a clearing, there, on the southern slopes of the mountains, with a lovely view of the Throat of the World, and Dragonsreach can be seen on clear days. When it's done," I averted my eyes, and undid the small box's clasp, "you're more than welcome to stay there as long as you wish."

"…I know the area. Normally, I'd say the Jarl was trying to get ya killed, on account of that area being a Frostbite breeding area, not to mention the bandits and conjurers that hold the ruins in those parts," he shrugged and smiled at me, "Nothing you can't handle, I'm sure."

"Well, I certainly hope they either keep to themselves, find a new calling in life, or move elsewhere. Otherwise, I'll have to use them as a way to, ah, alleviate my boredom," I quipped back with a smile, Farkas chuckling around another conservative sip of mead; taking a sip of tea for myself, I opened the box to find a diamond-encrusted snowflake on a velvet pillow. I held it up for Farkas to inspect, "What's this?"

Leaning over to look, Farkas huffed quietly, "That's the Northern Star. Pretty sure it's the highest award someone can get in Skyrim, without bein' part of a Guild, a Companion, a Guard Company, or a different group like the Legion."

"Hum. Well, it'll be a good conversation piece," I mused, closing the box and setting it aside, "I'll put it on my mantle or something."

"You'll have to make room for the other medals, too," the man I admired said grumpily; at my questioning gaze, he gestured at the remaining boxes, "All those except the bottom box are awards or medals. The Divine Priesthood gave you the Wings of Divine Kynareth, which I think makes you an unofficial priestess, you'll have to ask someone. The Legion awarded you an Emerald Shield; that's the sort of thing they give to civilians who assist the Empire's soldiers in doing their duties, at the risk of their own lives. Ulfric sent a King's Blade; the High King will have to verify that one, but it pretty much makes you Thane of Skyrim, if what Vilkas said is right."

Staring in horror at the remaining boxes, I felt my eyebrow twitch as I said, "They just gave me every civilian award Skyrim could possibly give, didn't they?"

"Not counting the Rift, for whatever reason, but yeah. I think Olquar might've nominated you for a White-Gold Rose, too."

"He recovered?" nearly everyone thought the Thalmor leader had been killed, when the Tyrant fell over. Imagine their surprise when they found him alive, half buried in corpses and nearly dead from blood loss, after the battle had ended.

"Mmm. Lost his legs, but he was sporting about it. 'I got the bastard back', he said," chuckling, Farkas then gestured at the other boxes, which I was grimacing at like they might bite me if I moved too much, "You, uh, want any help putting those inside?"

"Later," I sighed, glancing at the handsome man and poking the largest box, "So, what's in this one? An Elder Scroll? Some legendary weapon that'll collect dust on my shelf?"

"Nah," grinned Farkas, "It's from the Arch-Mage. He had me help him with that one. Open it. I think you'll like it."

Well, if _Farkas_ helped with whatever it was… Smiling, I carefully undid the clasps of the box, which was decorated with an enamel of Blackreach on the cover. Inside, on dark blue velvet…

Was a moonstone prosthetic arm, white as snow, with articulated fingers and wrist. Lifting it with a pleased gasp, I saw some kind of Soul Gem structure where it would connect to my elbow; it was lighter and less cumbersome than the wooden arm I was using, and looked like it would be secured to my shoulder with a half-sleeve made of moonstone chainmail.

"It's beautiful," I said breathlessly, looking over at Farkas, who had the good grace to blush, "You helped with this?"

"Mostly telling them what you'd want in an arm," he grumbled bashfully, adding, "And, ah, it's not quite done yet. Arch-Mage said to bring it to you, let you get a feel for it, and he'll come by in a few days to make some adjustments."

Tilting my head, I asked with a smile, "What I'd want in an arm?"

"It's no good as proper armor," he admitted, rubbing the back of his head and giving me a pointed look, "but you said you don't like fighting, even though you're one of the best fighters I've ever seen, so I made sure they knew to make it better at fine control, than something that could hold up to, say, a troll taking a swing at you. Not like they'd ever get close, what with the Chaurus, but y'know…" he trailed off, muttering.

Remembering what I promised him, I looked at the arm, feeling my smile diminish somewhat. Was I ready to talk about it, my past?

Taking a deep breath and sighing, I looked into Farkas' eyes and said, "This means more to me than a thousand medals, Farkas. Thank you," he mumbled something, but I wasn't done with the thoughtful, handsome young man, "Where did you plan on staying tonight?"

"Well," thunder rumbled, cutting off Farkas' statement, and the rain began to intensify. Chuckling, he looked apologetically at me, "I was gonna try running back to the ruin, but the Gods have other plans, I guess."

"Oh, you don't have to," I stood, closing the box and tucking it under an arm, making my way toward the door with a sway in my step, "I'll be more than happy to put you up for the night."

Rising, and gathering up the award boxes, Farkas informed me, "Didn't want to stink up your house with wet dog smell."

"I spend most of my time with insects, Farkas. They're dears, yes, but they can make quite the stink. If you're_ that_ worried, though…" Looking over my shoulder with a teasing smile – and hoping he couldn't hear my pounding heart – I asked, "How's a hot bath sound?"

He didn't complain further.

**.**

Hot baths were a rarity for Farkas. That Khepri had one in her basement was both a blessing and, given her assistance with that hot water pipe, expected.

Still, it was a good thing he had a dry change of clothes with him, so he wouldn't have to risk going about the woman's house in nothing but his loincloth. Sure, it was just a plain, threadbare burgundy tunic and a pair of comfortable pants… and he was gonna have to see a tailor's soon about getting a bigger size, but he was clean and presentable, and that's what mattered.

What was a little more concerning for the young man was the young woman waiting for him to finish; he was taking the opportunity to run his straight razor over his whiskers, make sure he wasn't too scruffy, because…

Shaking his head, Farkas cleaned off the razor in the sink, put it with his armor, piled in a corner, then stared at the curtain separating him from Khepri's bedroom/basement/bar/brewery (there were mead casks stacked against the wall furthest from the door).

He wasn't blind; Khepri _was_ interested. More than interested, she knew what she wanted, and had decided that was Farkas. It made him feel… not _restless_ – that was every Werewolf's life, restlessness – but… anxious?

There was a small medallion, a third of the Galdur Amulet, he'd discovered since that awful night on Lake Geir, and it was burning a hole in one of his armor's pockets. Over drinks last night, Vilkas actually told Farkas to tell Khepri how he felt about her… which didn't make much sense. Khepri was a smart girl, smarter than Farkas at any rate; if she didn't know how he felt, he'd eat his helm.

Sleeping with her though…

Something about that just… didn't sit right with him. Oh, she wouldn't be his first, not in any sense; between Aela, overly-thankful clients, and tavern girls, Farkas was… well, not as experienced as, say, Skjor or Aela, but he knew what to do, and was good at it.

No one ever _complained_, anyway… at least, not in a bad way.

Khepri, though… she felt different. Less some fling at a tavern, or a thankful woman with a 'big man' fetish.

She wasn't slight; if someone watched her closely, they might notice the well-trained muscles in her shoulders, even on the side with a stump. Her careful yet _certain_ steps, a she-wolf making sure her domain was all in order. Khepri only _looked_ like a thin, helpless cripple, but Farkas knew, just like any fighter worth their mettle would know, that only the arrogant and the foolish would really take her for a weakling.

He'd be lying if he said that didn't intimidate him, just a little.

It got him more than a little hot under the collar, sure, but… that also made him wonder, if she had other lovers. Did Farkas remind her of someone she was with, before Skyrim? How many had she taken to her bed, before him?

Granted, he couldn't find anything saying she was free with her body; hells, the best Farkas could come up with was a half-unbelievable rumor from Heart's Day, where she supposedly bedded that Dunmer Priest of Mara! But that was Heart's Day; ain't nobody was gonna judge what one did on _that_ day, least of all Farkas of the Companions.

Grunting, Farkas shook his head and strode toward the curtain. He wasn't going to get any answers by thinking about it. He wouldn't find out what Khepri was really like by worrying about absurd things.

Besides, he didn't want to kick off a relationship like this one with sex. A basement in Dawnstar, with a woman like Khepri…

Farkas looked around the downstairs area; the bar was empty – save the medals, the boxes stacked on one side without care – the trapdoor was closed, and the only real light was coming from behind a large fur sheet against one wall. Khepri's bedroom.

Swallowing, Farkas approached, calling ahead, "Khepri?" he couldn't _smell_ anything off, other than a honey-scented candle. A nice touch.

"Come in, Farkas," she called from the other side of the curtain, sounding quite calm. Banishing the feeling of walking into a Deathlord's tomb, Farkas brushed the curtain aside.

A large bed, big enough for two people Farkas' size to fit with room to spare, was against the far wall. A dresser, bookshelf, wardrobe and bedside table were the only other furniture in the small space, which Khepri had clearly tried to clean quickly. Books, loose sheets of paper, insect sketches and notes, maps, and clothes were all scattered about with no rhyme or reason, taking up every available surface that wasn't the floor, where a couple bear hide rugs tickled Farkas' feet. The moonstone prosthetic, still in its box, occupied the center of the dresser, and was bracketed by dried flowers and a few bags of Septims.

"Sorry about the mess," sheepishly laughed Khepri, rubbing her stump with her hand while Farkas looked her up and down; all she was wearing was a long shirt, one that showed off her collarbones and shoulders, and… a par of thigh-high woolen socks.

"Ah, it's fine," Farkas assured her, looking at the drawings posted on her wall, and the few other knickknacks she owned, before smiling at the green-eyed beauty, "The Companions are messier, especially Aela."

She laughed again, sounding a little nervous, but also giving him another _lustful_ once-over. She looked torn, like she didn't know whether to jump him or sic her wasps on him.

Thinking quick, Farkas set a hand on her left shoulder, making eye contact with her, "Khepri… if you're nervous, we don't have to do anything. I'm good to just nap with you, if you'd like."

Yeah, he wouldn't mind making her moan with ecstasy either, but she didn't look completely sure of herself.

"I… want to. It's just…" she tore her eyes away for a moment, then looked pleadingly at him, "I can't remember feeling so safe around someone, Farkas. Merely seeing you makes my heart flutter, knowing how polite, sure, and caring you are." She put her hand on his chest, "I care for you, deeply, yet…" She glanced over her shoulder, at her bed, and bit her lip.

Farkas rubbed her arm comfortingly, and tried to guess what was worrying Khepri, "I can be gentle, if you're worried about that."

"No, it's not that…" she gave him a sheepish smile, "Um, I have… a _lot_ of stamina, Farkas, and, ah, so do you. We're both quite strong as well, and… _well_, I'm not sure my pinewood bed will be able to handle us."

Farkas blinked; looking over her shoulder… yeah, Skyrim pine was strong, but _marathon_ strong? Khepri kept grinning apologetically.

"Yeah…" he nodded, then shrugged with a smile of his own, "Don't want to put you out of a bed. That, and a lot of people would give us mudcrabs tomorrow, if we leave the house numb-legged and limping."

She giggled, and Farkas took the opportunity to pull her close. Khepri reciprocated, nuzzling into his chest before looking up into his eyes. Leaning down, he nuzzled her nose a little…

A spark seemed to fly across his lips, when they brushed hers. For a good long while, he didn't think, or speak, and neither did Khepri, both of them content to explore the other's body with hands, while their mouths tasted each other. She didn't much taste like honey, Farkas realized, but… she was… _nice_. Better than his first few kisses, by a long shot.

Khepri didn't even shy away when he rubbed her stump, either, nor did she fight back when Farkas guided her to sit on his lap, while he sat on the bed. As a certain part of his body was starting to stiffen, the Companion broke the kiss…

And licked Khepri's face from her chin to her forehead.

The look on her face was priceless… and then she licked him back with a vengeful grin.

As they both laughed and ribbed each other, getting more comfortable on the bed, Farkas felt he'd like spending more time with this lovely lass… although…

He was brushing her hair, having pulled it out of her braid, and the bells were ringing the 11th hour, when Farkas asked Khepri, "I know you've got a dark past behind you, but… what happened, to turn you off fighting?"

"Do you enjoy killing beasts and people?" she asked in return, voice very slightly clipped.

"Nah," Farkas replied truthfully, taking care not to create any knots in the soft, silky curls he was combing, "It's my job, my sworn duty, what I'm good at. Sure, I'm a dab hand at gardening, but it's not my profession."

"…I don't remember all of my past, but…" she moved her back against his chest, shivering; Farkas nudged the top of her head, to let her know he was there, and waited. Eventually… "No one ever asked for honey. I could've done it, made beehives, harvested spider silk for clothes and rope… but no one wanted that from me, not even those I was close to."

"That you remember," he reminded her, when her tone turned sad.

"That I remember," she agreed, sounding a little stronger; after giving him a thankful kiss, Khepri continued, "Everyone wanted me to fight for _their_ cause, and damn what I thought about it. When I disagreed… well, there was a slaver who lived in my city, who could turn himself into some kind of serpentine abomination, like a dragon but much, _much_ uglier. He hated me, for some reason; I think it's because, the first time we fought, I rotted his crotch away with spider venom."

Farkas paused in his combing, blinking, a cold feeling spreading from his own jewels, "What."

"Child slaver, Farkas. He dealt in flesh, drugged little girls and chained them to brothels."

Oh. "Good job, then. And the second time?"

"I gouged his eyes out with a knife…" she sighed sadly, "But those aren't good memories. I just… keep remembering how _disappointed_ I was in everyone. They only wanted to _fight_ each other; even close friends and lovers barely got along, half the time."

"Sounds like Stormcloaks and Legionaries. Still, after the Muster, they might be a little more gentlemanly to each other," he kissed the side of her neck, drawing a pleased sigh from his lass, "Thanks for that, Khepri."

She laughed lowly, "My pleasure. If only the people from my lands had listened to me so readily, there wouldn't have been nearly so many problems…" she shook her head, "Where was I?"

"Lovers. Did you have anyone?"

"Not that I can remember clearly. I have a feeling that there was _someone_, but…" she batted away his hand, turned around, and looped her arm around Farkas' neck, eyes shining with happiness, "They never made me feel the way you make me feel, Farkas. When you're near, I feel like nothing can hurt me."

Farkas set the comb aside, and wrapped the slender lass in an embrace, promising her, "And nothing will, so long's I draw breath." He kissed her, and pulled Khepri with him as he laid down, so she could use him as a living body pillow. Her squirming keens of happiness, how she tucked her face into his neck and sighed contentedly, these were worth more than any gold or praise to Farkas.

And he would promise her again, and woe betide the stupid bastard who tried to make him break that promise.


	18. 17: As The Dust Settles

On how the settlement is laid out: the giant camp of Blizzard Rest has been cut out completely. The Weynon Stones are less snowy than in-game, and mark the center of the new settlement; most of the buildings are near the crags where Heljarchen Hall sits.

That's all! Enjoy the latest chapter, folks!

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Chapter 17:  
As The Dust Settles

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**26 First Seed, 4E200  
Weynon Glades, Southern Pale**

Cristus and Wumeek were used to being the subject of rumors. First, in their youth, the people of Riverwood had seen it odd that the large Nord boy and the runty Argonian were such good friends. Then, in the Legion, with the big Nord Quaestor rubbing shoulders with the smirking green-scaled Battlemage. No one questioned their friendship, and, later, their more intimate devotions, once they retired to Dawnstar after the war, but more than a few brows were raised and rumors muttered all the same.

In truth, they hadn't begun as friends.

Cristus met Wumeek on the shores of Riverwood. Back then, Cristus was still a snot-nosed little brat who, on account of being bigger than any other boy, made him think he was in charge. So he tried to take a shiny rock Wumeek, the fisherman's son, found in the shallows.

It wasn't the first time someone fought back against Cristus, but it was the first time he'd lost, knocked on his ass by a boy he stood head and shoulders over.

And that hadn't been the end of it, either. Cristus' Pa made his displeasure _very clear_ to the boy; once his ass wasn't bruised, Cristus was told to apologize.

He did, then asked Wumeek to teach him how to punch like that.

Years later, they joined the Legion, Cristus because of the tales of Talos and the Red Legions all Nordic children learned, and Wumeek because he was bored with fishing and was better with swinging a sword or flicking a lightning bolt. They both weathered the Oblivion that was basic training, and were assigned to the Legions in Hammerfell.

War broke out not two years later.

Cristus didn't like remembering those horrid days. The March of Thirst, and both battles of Skaven, the second of which saw Wumeek losing his left leg at the knee, tortured for minutes by a laughing Thalmor witch before Cristus got there…

Although, while the Nord carried his dearest back to the camp and the medic, the ruddy lizard decided that was the perfect time to confess his feelings. Fair, he'd lost his leg, but Cristus had bandaged it properly!

Wumeek would never let him forget how he stumbled and spluttered, which Cristus was thankful for. There were too many awful things about that day; the bright spot – the brightest spot – would always be something he'd enjoy remembering.

Dawnstar was a good retreat from the troubles of the world; yes, it meant being far from their families, but both their Pa's didn't much appreciate them settling down with each other, thinking it'd have been proper for both men to find a nice lass. While Wumeek didn't care one way or the other (but preferred Cristus), the Nord of the pair just couldn't see women that way; it made him queasy, thinking of a lady like that.

All the same, time passed. Cristus did his level best to protect Dawnstar, as was proper for a citizen of the Empire and Skyrim, and Wumeek used his skills with glassmaking, learned in Hammerfell, to make sure there were bottles to fill with their golden mead (and make a few _specialty_ items for Frida, not that anyone knew about that). Both men were pleased with their lot in life; they wanted for little, and that little wouldn't be missed overmuch, so long as they were together.

Then, on the evening before the 1st of Sun's Dawn, Khepri arrived in Dawnstar with her Chaurus, bringing with her the bodies of the Frostflow family.

Cristus helped dig the family's graves, and bade Wumeek not to worry overmuch. Yes, the bug control was absolutely terrifying, but… the Nord indicated the woman's eyes, the way she seemed to stare off into the distance at odd moments, or how she never went anywhere without at least one Chaurus Hunter nearby.

Wumeek quieted after that; both of them could respect a veteran, even one so terribly young, wanting a quiet life.

The following month was… entertaining was a word for it. Exciting at points – like when that damn cultist was found out, or the pirates screaming and weeping for mercy – but, on the whole, Khepri's presence in Dawnstar was more a boon than a hindrance.

Some folk thought the College arriving, and the news that came of Skitter's transformation, would see dark times for Dawnstar…

But that wasn't so.

Instead, it was a boon for the town; oh, sure, the merchant shelves and backrooms were rather sparse, once the Muster was over, but it seemed the East Empire Company had taken interest in Dawnstar again, as more supplies and packages came from Solitude ahead of schedule.

As it turned out, the ruin of Mzinchaleft was being turned into a major Dwemer dig-site, while the deeper cavern, Blackreach, was declared a site of historic significance _and _the primary Chaurus reserve in Skyrim. Both were drawing interest from all over Tamriel and, as Dawnstar was the nearest deep-water port and settlement to the ruin, Cristus and Wumeek realized that their sleepy little town was about to become _very_ busy and loud.

While Cristus could handle the everyday sounds of a town, one so busy that he couldn't hear anything - his beloved talking, most importantly – didn't sit well with him. Luckily, Wumeek was there for him, as was Khepri, who'd they'd become friends with after she asked about brewing mead.

Which led to their current location, a newly-built farm on the fringes of Whiterun Hold.

Cristus finished cultivating a planting row, the last of 20, and rose with a tired sigh and mopped his brow with a belt rag; while he wasn't _too_ out of shape, he wasn't young anymore either, and these lands were quite a bit warmer than Dawnstar. Yes, he could remember Riverwood being warmer, but it'd been… some time, since he came south.

The view, both of the modern slate-roofed farmhouse, his love seeding the rows he'd finished, and the wide open hills of Whiterun beyond… Cristus wondered why he never thought of moving down here before; then Cristus remembered the Frostbite Spiders that once lurked in the nearby crags, which Khepri was clearing out while the Jarl's work crews got started on her new home, and remembered why.

In the distance, lit by the midmorning Sun, a white building shone above the rolling hills: Dragonsreach, the palace of Whiterun, one of Skyrim's oldest and most important settlements, home to Jorrvaskr, Mead Hall of Ysgramor's Companions, the Skyforge, and Gildergreen's Sentinel, oldest Temple of Kynareth on the continent- it was said you couldn't touch a cobblestone in Whiterun without touching part of Tamriel's long and prestigious history.

And above, with a banner of cloud and snow billowing off its heights in the direction of Windhelm, Monahven, the Throat of the World, tallest mountain in Tamriel, and near its summit, barely visible at this distance, the monastery of High Hrothgar, home to the Greybeards, the Masters of the Voice.

While Cristus admired the fine view, his husband noticed, and came over to lean against his bear, "I'll miss the salt smell of Dawnstar, and the docks, but I won't miss the horker attacks, or the long winter nights."

"Aye," Cristus kissed his man's brow, wrapping an arm around Wumeek as he chuckled low in his throat. "Fields of our own, at last."

"Yes," sighed Wumeek, yellow eyes smiling at the mountains and plains. "And to think: the Legion could've settled plenty of veterans here easy enough, after."

"Mmm. Glad they didn't. Ma and Pa would've found a way to bother us," the Argonian laughed in agreement and kissed Cristus' jaw, making the large Nord blush… and he noticed someone approaching. "And here comes Khepri."

On that cold winter's eve, Khepri had entered Dawnstar looking regal, but haggard and pale, a woman wise beyond her years, a weary soldier looking for shelter.

The transformation she'd undergone was incredible.

Gone were the baggy eyes, the constant frown and sporadic empty stares. Dressed in a blue blouse and skirt, feet clad in leather boots, luxurious hair twined into a hip-length braid, and a happy smile on her lightly tanned face, few would think this woman the same who annihilated the Falmer, who was regarded – and hailed by more than a few soldiers of the Muster – as Queen of the Chaurus.

Cristus and Wumeek had more than a few conversations about which young lad of Dawnstar would be the first to work up the courage to court the beautiful lass. Both weren't surprised at all to find her bidding that Companion friend of hers farewell, not a week ago now, with an embrace and lingering kiss at her door.

Wumeek, Helga and Frida were already conspiring for their wedding day.

"Khepri!" greeted Wumeek warmly, leaving his husband's embrace to give the lass a friendly hug, "Ah, you look radiant as always."

"As do you, Wumeek." Khepri allowed with a blushing smile, waving to Cristus, "Hello, Cristus! How goes the planting?"

"Khepri," the Nord man nodded, beard twitching in a smile, "And it goes well; soil down here's much better than Dawnstar's, obviously. I'm grateful for that though. Been a long time since I've worked a field, but it's just a matter of shaking the rust off."

"Well, I'm sure there isn't too much rust, given how well Wumeek keeps you trim." they all laughed, Wumeek bashful.

Khepri sighed and, brushing stray hairs out of her eyes, looked at the area around them: an Inn, a bunkhouse/barracks for the guards, three houses – for Bori's family, some bee-handlers Khepri trained, and an EEC trading post – the Hall, and a large construction of metal and glass, a _botanical garden_ as Khepri called it… all these had their foundations laid, the framework of each building already going up, hammers and orders filling the spring air. On the hill near the crags, the Hall's frame was nearly done. And, in the south, another nearby farm, belonging to the Loreius family, marked the midpoint between Weynon and Whiterun.

One day, it was going to be a busy settlement, full of laughter and light; Cristus couldn't wait for that day.

"The spiders giving you any trouble?" Wumeek asked with a grin, which Khepri replied to with a scoff; it was well known that all insects obeyed her, no matter the size.

"Not at all; most of them are assisting getting the last materials into place, while Skitter watches over the rest in the forest, further north," she gestured to the tree line, nearer to the western cliffs, where carts of planks and other building material were being pulled into place, "No… though, it seems we've drawn some attention from the locals."

That wiped both men's smiles away; Cristus panned his gaze across the forest while Wumeek observed, "Khepri, no one respectable lives out this way… bandits?"

She shook her head, looking northward- ah, there; a small group of people were moving unhurriedly toward the budding settlement. They seemed more curious than looking for a fight; one had a bow drawn, but held the air of being at ease, as did their fellows.

"I don't think so," reported Khepri, sounding thoughtful as her smile faded to a humored smirk, "Their gear is in better condition than your average bandit's, and they seem more concerned with examining the village than trying to rob us."

"Marauders, then," Cristus grumbled, drawing an unamused snort from his husband, "Like as not, they'll try raiding at night rather than in the day. They're like bandits," he explained to Khepri's raised eyebrow, "but with actual brains between their ears."

"Hm." she looked at the distant men and women again for a moment, then shrugged and started walking, "Well, I guess I'll go say hello to our new neighbors, then."

After exchanging a glance with his husband, Cristus followed her, garden hoe slung over one shoulder, while Wumeek limped along at a more sedate pace, no doubt preparing that dehydration spell of his, one the Thalmor learned to fear, so long ago.

When they were in earshot, one of the Marauders, an Imperial in glass half-plate, called out, "That's close enough, lest you're looking for trouble."

Cristus counted their numbers as he stopped behind Khepri, on her right: an Imperial with two Elven swords, standing in front of three Nords, one a woman, wielding bows, the two men carrying basic steel great-axes while the lady had a pair of daggers, Orcish by the look of them; further back was a Dunmer, face covered in red war paint, and an Altmer, both women, the goldskin sporting a deep scar on the left side of her face. The Altmer was armed with a spear, while the Dunmer girl shouldered a greatsword that was tall as she was. Lastly, a Redguard was half-hidden in the trees, an arrow on his bow and watching the exchange with a weather eye.

Seven Marauders, all armed and armored, and there was Cristus, in a cotton shirt and canvas slacks, armed only with a garden hoe, his husband unarmed bar his belt knife and brains… and then there was Khepri.

The lads and lasses before him had _no idea_ how fucked they'd be, should they start something.

"And a good morning to you, too, sirs and misses." Khepri replied in a cheery voice. "May I ask what your business here is, before the guards get nervous?"

A whispered exchange later, the Imperial smiled at them, "Tyronius Cecia. The lads and I are part of a group that's in the process of plumbing a nearby barrow, Silverdrift Lair; we have contract with a client in Riften."

"Oh! Well, it's nice to meet you," and Khepri sounded honest about that, much to Cristus' hidden amusement; wouldn't do to bust a gut while the Lady of Bees showed a milk-drinker up. "I'll need to see that contract, at your convenience of course; you see, the Jarl of Dawnstar has rewarded me with this land in exchange for services rendered, and it would be rather poor of me to allow common bandits to sit on my doorstep."

That seemed to catch the Marauders off guard, all of them looking at her prosthetic and domestic bearing pointedly, as though disregarding her as a challenge. There was even a small sneer in Tyronius' voice as he replied, "Why _certainly_, miss… ah, I don't believe you've given your name."

"Ah, where are my manners," Skyrim's youngest Thane laughed lightly; her next words, however, held a coldness underneath her usual hospitable warmth, "I am Khepri, the Beekeeper of Dawnstar, and Thane of Skyrim. It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Cecia."

The lad in question was looking rather pale, his smile increasingly fixed, while his companions were suddenly on guard, shifting nervously while the forests about them became rather loud with the chittering of cicadas; the Redguard looked about to try taking a shot.

"Now, lads, we're all neighbors here, people of Skyrim all," rumbled Cristus in dark humor, garden hoe creaking in his tightening grip, "Let's not do anythin'… hasty." Behind him, there was a crack of knuckles, and a much more pointed _crackle_ of lightning.

"O-Of course not," the Imperial found his footing, sending a glare over his shoulder to his people – they relaxed marginally – before smiling at Khepri again, "Be rather foolish, trying to fight the lady what destroyed the Falmer. Ah, and thank you for that, miss, truly," the Marauder actually _bowed_; wasn't a deep bow, but a show of respect nonetheless, "there was a den of the bastards not far from here, kept trying to raid us in the night."

"Yes, I know of it. Duskglow Crevice. You'll be happy to know that my Chaurus have occupied it as their new nest, so you won't be troubled in your excavations from that end," and Khepri was all smiles once more. "But, again, welcome to Weynon Glades; we don't have the inn up and running yet, but feel free to come by for a mug someday!"

"I'll be sure to let our boss know," the Imperial said, backing away with another nod, "A good day to you, Miss Khepri."

"Wait." The Altmer woman stepped forward, ignoring the protests of her companions to address the Beekeeper, "You are Khepri? Truly?"

"I am. And you are?"

"Aroliel. I was once a mercenary, out of Morrowind, before the leader of the Ghostbeards captured and held me prisoner for months."

Khepri nodded slowly, saying, "I hope your current fortunes are more to your liking."

"They are. Infinitely so." the woman's face was hard, "I only have one question for you, Khepri: did Glothun the Ghostbeard die like the rock-headed vermin he was?"

"…well, he certainly died like an idiot, if that's what you're asking. He attacked one of my Chaurus Hunters after I offered him mercy; I'm sure you can imagine how that went." Khepri huffed with a head-shake, clearly uncomfortable with the conversation.

"He deserved no less than a fool's death," the Altmer replied with surety; she bowed, "I thank you for the closure, Beekeeper. May the Gods watch over your fortunes." And she turned and left, the other Marauders continuing their retreat once she caught up with them.

Once they vanished, Wumeek remarked cheekily, "Well, at least they're smarter than that greaseball, Balthi, was." How that bastard met his end was always good for a laugh, even from Khepri, who hadn't been very pleased to know what the fucker had done, before running afoul her swarms.

"Ah, Cristus; before I let you get back to the fields," Khepri strode next to him, smiling, "the casks of mead are nearly matured enough for bottling, then taste-testing. They should be ready by week's end, but I, um, admit that I'm not very practiced…"

As Cristus gave her basic instructions, and told her who else in Dawnstar could help her, he silently thanked the Gods for sending the girl to Skyrim, sure in his heart that he wasn't the only one to do so, nor the last.

**.**

**30 First Seed 4E200  
Dawnstar**

Jordis, Houscarl of Solitude, had always known she would be just that: a Houscarl, her life in service to Skyrim's High King, and, eventually, a Thane.

Her life began, she was told by her tutors, in Markarth; her family had been taken by the occupying Forsworn, while Jordis herself had been found by Skyrim's forces in the den of a Hagraven, when Ulfric Stormcloak retook the city. After being confirmed clean by the Priesthood of the Eight Divines – Nine, in truth, but she wasn't supposed to say such in public – she was brought to Solitude, along with a few other children, and raised in the household of High King Torygg.

For two-and-a-half decades, this was her life: she would wake, pray, eat, preform her morning exercises, listen to her tutor's lessons, eat, train with the guards, read the books assigned to her, eat, preform her evening exercises, pray, and sleep once more.

Jordis had proven herself against all manner of foes, once she became a full Houscarl; bandits, wild beasts, draugr, daedra, and more besides. At twenty-five-years-old, the beautiful – so she was told, _wearily_ often – blonde Nord woman was happy with her career and duties; aside from ensuring Proudspire Manor was kept clean in case a buyer turned up, most issues she was called on to deal with – usually bandits or Forsworn – underestimated her, believing her delicate appearance meant she was weak.

This usually meant her jobs were swiftly handled, a matter that pleased the High King and Queen quite a bit, which pleased Jordis, because it meant she was doing good for her king and country.

However, she disliked the other Thanes and Houscarls of the Blue Palace, mostly because they kept making uncouth offers for Jordis to join them in their bedchambers. She didn't understand; there was no need for her to debauch herself in such ways, nevermind her inexperience in those matters, and did they not have duties to attend? Trials to prepare for? Books to read? Business to conduct, that the realm might be enriched?

Sybille, the Court Wizard, often agreed with Jordis, but also implored the younger woman to stop being so prudish; again, Jordis didn't understand. She was _pragmatic,_ not prudish. Her duties were more important than pursuing some man who'd be too distracted by her physical features, to give Jordis' emotions any attention. Better to perform her job as Houscarl, than enter into some unfulfilling relationship. She was content where she was, and if it never changed, she would not be displeased.

Yet, all things change; such was the cycle of the world, according to the teachings of Arkay.

One evening, after the Muster at Mzinchaleft was concluded – an event which sparked much celebration and revelry in the city of Solitude, which made Jordis happy; things had been so bleak and anxious, of late, what with Windhelm's dissidence – the Houscarl was practicing her swordplay in the Blue Palace's gardens when one of the King's Guardsmen beckoned to her.

She was brought to the King's suite, dressed still in her day clothes; initially, she was nervous. If the King asked her to share his bed, would it be treason to refuse the order? Yet, why would he wait until this moment, Jordis argued with herself; should he have wished for the pleasure of Jordis' body, Torygg need only have asked. He was King, after all.

Composing herself with the reminder that Torygg only ever looked upon Queen Elisif in such a way, Jordis knocked, and was bade to enter.

The High King was seated at his desk, examining multiple paper reports as the evening sun shone through the leaded glass windows; Queen Elisif was reclining upon a couch, reading _Words and Philosophy_, a fine book, in Jordis' professional opinion. The Queen of Skyrim favored the Houscarl with a smile and nod, which was returned as she passed.

"My King, you have summoned me?" Jordis greeted as she bent the knee, as was proper for one of her station.

"Yes. Have a seat, my Houscarl," he indicated one of the comfortable, upholstered chairs that were usually meant for honored guests; a warm smile was sent in her direction, "I have some questions for you."

"Yes, my King," replied Jordis, silently wishing she'd been ordered to stand; the chairs were far too comfortable, in her opinion, and were usually meant for nobles, not a clanless Houscarl, no matter how much prestige she'd accrued over the years.

Over the next ten minutes, she was grilled for information on several of her past adventures, some of which had happened during her apprenticeship. The incident with the Briarhearts at the Dragon Bridge Overlook was gone over with meticulous attention to detail, as was her scouting of the Forsworn fortress Hag's End, and the tussle she ended up in with a group of smugglers, near the lighthouse up the coast, two years ago.

Then Jordis was asked a question she was not prepared for.

"What are your thoughts on the Chaurus; specifically, the recent claim by Khepri the Beekeeper that they are sentient and capable of emotion and learning?" Torygg's voice remained as even and warm as she'd ever heard, despite the sheer unbelievability of the query.

It was one Jordis' training and education didn't cover; indeed, it was long accepted that Chaurus of all kinds were evil creatures that fed on the flesh of thinking beings, the foul insects utterly subservient to the Falmer.

Yet, now, the Falmer were gone, the Chaurus having rebelled, with Skyrim at their side, all because of a young girl, who the Temple had declared was Blessed by Kynareth, in Her aspect of Nature.

It was something worthy of song, of legend. Jordis found herself occasionally awed to have lived to see such history being made.

All the same, her King had asked a question of her. After thinking on it for a moment, she replied honestly.

"I know little of the Chaurus that isn't known by other protectors of the realm, my King; as such, I must defer to Thane Khepri's expertise on the matter. Indeed, it cannot be doubted that she knows more of the Chaurus than any other citizen of Skyrim. Therefore, her word on the Chaurus should be treated as that of a scholar's conclusion, after careful and meticulous research, and thus, as accepted fact."

"Eloquently put, Jordis," she thanked her King for the praise, before he continued, "Your personal opinion of Khepri, if you don't mind?"

Jordis barely needed to think of it, "I have not met her, my King, but I hear many things about her in passing. Much of the gossip is good. It is no secret she was given the Northern Star, by your grace, and is therefore Thane of Skyrim. From rumor of her kindness in Dawnstar, and factual reports of the Muster, I can say without doubt she has earned my respect, as well as my honest admiration, my King. Skyrim should be proud to host such a kind, benevolent, and determined soul."

At that last admission, she forced a blush down, knowing how it might be perceived. Jordis had no opinion, when it came to sex; male, female, neither intrigued her, beyond their skill in battle or verse. It was likely that she simply hadn't met anyone who sparked her interest.

Given who frequented the High King's court… this was understandable.

High King Torygg did not remark on Jordis' statement; instead, he glanced at his wife with an expression Jordis believed was a silent question. Then he smiled at Jordis, and, after swearing her to secrecy, revealed the true purpose of their meeting.

Thus was Houscarl Jordis sent to Dawnstar, most of her worldly possessions on her back, secret orders in her head, and a satchel containing several documents from the King for Thane Khepri, who Jordis was now subservient to.

Jordis would be lying if she said the prospect of serving the Beekeeper didn't excite her, somewhat. Thane Khepri was, by all accounts, a bachelorette; she was not known for taking men – or women – to her bed, or marching to battle, or delving ruins, instead choosing to pursue the business that earned her the title of Beekeeper. This meant that Jordis would have much to do; surely a personage such as Khepri would need a rare ingredient, or an ancient artifact hidden in a ruin, or – likely – competitors that needed to be dissuaded from bothering her.

Additionally, Jordis had rarely left Solitude in her life, only ever travelling the Reach, Hjaalmarch and Haafingar in her duties. She wondered how the frontier town of Dawnstar would differ, from the other parts of Skyrim.

Happily, it was only lightly snowing when she passed the ruin of Mzinchaleft, where some sculptors from High Rock were preparing several statues to commemorate the Muster. Jordis had seen the plans, shown to her by Elisif one day in the gardens; the central statue would be of Khepri holding an infant Chaurus, the woman's form protected by a pair of Hunters. The Houscarl wondered if the woman knew about it yet.

Further along the road, she came to the Dawn Fields, a stretch of flowers that'd sprung up not long after Khepri's arrival in Dawnstar. As she passed them, Jordis kept her guard up, due to the Spriggan Earth Mother standing near a ruined cairn, and the three lesser Spriggans that formed her retinue. Despite their proximity, families and children still played in the fields, where butterflies and bees swirled among one of the most beautiful arrangement of flowers Jordis had seen outside the Palace Gardens.

The town itself defied the description from books; rather than the smell of old sewers and mining refuse, Jordis' first scent of the town was of cooking, firing clay, and freshly cut wood. There were two guards in full-face helms, toting shields decorated with the town's Star heraldry, at the entrance; noticing her livery – she was still wearing the red and black clothes proper for a Houscarl of Solitude, underneath her steel kit, along with the Shield of Solitude on her arm – they approached and greeted her.

"Welcome to Dawnstar, traveler; cleanest beds in all of Skyrim!"

A bold claim, thought Jordis, replying professionally, "I am Jordis the Sword-Maiden, Houscarl of Skyrim."

Before she could go on, the guard who'd spoken nodded and spoke warmly, "You're expected, and a full day early, Sword-Maiden," he pointed to the far end of the bay, over the thatched-and-tile roofs, where a house… and a greenhouse, stood, "Over yonder is Khepri's home. Don't know if she's in, as she's been busy readyin' for a move to the southern Pale. She'll tell you more, I wager."

Nodding, Jordis bade the guards well, as was proper, and made her way into the town. A few suspicious glances were sent her way – Stormcloak sympathizers, no doubt – but, on the whole, most of the townsfolk were cheerful and warm in their greetings. The streets were clean, the smithy was puffing away, an East Empire vessel was being unloaded at the docks, with a Legion frigate watching over them, a pair of Chaurus Hunters were assisting at the iron mine- _wait._

Jordis blinked at the two Hunters, both with scarves around their upper torsos, teaching a pair of large common Chaurus how to pull the carts of mine wasterock, all under the watchful eye of a serious-faced Nord woman.

…it wasn't the _oddest_ thing Jordis had ever seen, but it ranked quite high on her list. She kept walking.

Khepri's home was very… homey. The scent of the greenhouse's flowers mixed with the salt of the Sea of Ghosts and the smoke of chimneys, reminding Jordis somewhat of Solitude, or the Docks below the city. A covered porch, with shutters, was the only distinction the house made from most of those around it; that, and the two signs next to the stairs, near an alley that led to the greenhouse.

The first was a standard Merchant's sign, a yellow field with bees surrounding the words, painted a pleasant blue:

**Khepri's Gardens, Dawnstar  
Honey Goods  
Alchemical Ingredients  
Landscaping**

The other was square, hanging just beneath the first, seemed to be made of some kind of black material, and the words were written in a light green, clearly by hand:

**The Chaurus are friendly  
Do not attack or feed them**

Jordis nodded in approval; her new Thane had sense, presenting a warning for any who made it to her home. Stepping onto the stairs, she found a woman sitting on the porch; they were not Khepri.

The woman was young, around Jordis' own age, and a Breton. Her hair was straight and short; not quite a pageboy cut. She seemed muscular, used to hardship, emphasized by the clothes of a miner and the quick, sharp, assessing glance she shot Jordis; yet there was a gleaming Amulet of Mara on her breast.

Around a blink, the woman asked in a decidedly Nordic accent, "You're that Houscarl from Solitude, Jordis, yeah?"

"I am," the blonde confirmed, sizing the woman up, wondering if the Breton sought to court her new Thane, "And you?"

"Liora. I'm, ah," she smiled and blushed, standing from her seat, where she'd been reading a book; a study book concerning international economics. Interesting, "I am the fiancé of Callidus, Khepri's Steward here in Dawnstar. One moment, I'll fetch him."

That explained both why she was on the porch, and the book; as she was marrying into the Thane's household, it was only proper to understand how said household worked… or, so Jordis understood. She had no plans for marriage herself.

Regardless, the Houscarl didn't have a chance to speak up before Liora opened the door and called, "Cal? That Houscarl from Solitude is here."

"Ah! Send her in, please, Li." A rather pleasant-sounding voice replied; it reminded Jordis of the Choir members at the Temple in Solitude. Most of them were Imperial, for obvious reasons.

Within the home, Jordis found a young and very handsome Imperial man rising from his seat, leaning on a cane and smiling in greeting, despite the clear pain he was in, "A pleasure to meet you, Jordis Sword-Maiden. Steward Callidus, at your service."

"Houscarl Jordis, at your service and this household's, Steward," she shook his hand, as was proper; despite his discomfort and seeming frailty, Callidus had a strong grip. "Are you well? You seem to be in a bit of pain."

"Nothing that the Temple can cure; I was struck in the back by a troll, in my youth," he smiled, despite the morose subject, "I've learned to live with it. It helps that I have a sharp mind, or, well, so Miss Khepri tells me often. Please, make yourself at home. May I offer you anything? Tea? Mead?"

"Tea, please" replied Jordis while removing her shield and pack, hoping Khepri enjoyed the imported drink as much as she did; she kept _Icefeather_, her Stalrhim broadsword, on her hip, as it wouldn't do to be caught unawares, should some fool make an attempt on the town. Once seated, she observed Callidus' preparations and, after debating a conversation topic with herself, remarked, "Congratulations on your engagement, Steward. I will pray to the Gods for your union to be a happy one."

"Thank you, Houscarl," the grin on his face was very bright, yet he also appeared bashful; the reason was forthcoming, "I admit, we would still be, eh, courting, were it not for Miss Khepri's insistence."

A teacup and additions were placed in front of Jordis; ignoring the sugar and cream, she placed a small pinch of honey into the tea – a Falkreath blend, if she wasn't mistaken – and inhaled the fumes, feeling the weariness of the road leave her slightly.

"Where is Thane Khepri, Steward?" she asked, after waiting for Callidus to be seated. "With her Chaurus?"

"Ah, no. She is on the _Dawnsprite_, the frigate you likely saw among the icebergs," he replied in that eternally patient and kind tone of his; did he ever stop smiling, or was he simply that happy to be wed? "It used to belong to the Ghostbeard pirates, before they made the mistake of attacking Dawnstar; these days, it's mostly used as a fishing boat. Miss Khepri sometimes goes aboard, to draw crab in."

Mentally filing the information, Jordis frowned, "Why do you not call her Thane? It is her title."

"Because she insists on not using that title, or any others aside from her self-imposed position as 'Beekeeper', unless she's conducting business that concerns Skyrim politics, or," Callidus' smile turned slightly sharp, "if she needs to intimidate some deserving fools. I understand there is a group of professional Marauders near the new settlement, Weynon Glades; they are excavating a tomb, on the order of a patron in Riften, but weren't above raiding the odd passing carriage, nonlethally if they could help it. Miss Khepri used her title to intimidate them into assisting the defense of the town, should she ask for it. In return, they'll be left to their archeology, as it appears their contract is legitimate."

Jordis blinked. That was… not the sort of behavior she was expecting out of the Beekeeper. Yes, she was, by all accounts, a peerless warrior, though retired, but did she really fear nothing, even the scorn that would come from working with bandits?

"I… see," Jordis eventually said, deciding to wait until she met the Beekeeper, to make any final decisions. She changed the subject, "I have several documents and missives for… Khepri, from the High King and the gentry of Solitude."

Callidus' eyes lit up with interest, "Oh? Well, let's see what we have, before she returns."

"I was instructed to deliver these papers to Thane Khepri herself." Jordis' voice was very slightly admonishing; Steward or not, who did this boy think he-

"Ah, apologies. Miss Khepri lets me look over her mail before she reads it herself, you see," explained the Steward with honest apology writ into every line of his body; he smiled, seemingly in remembrance, "Given how often the Silver-Bloods, the Jarl of Falkreath, and a certain other apiary in the Rift send her offers of marriage, land, and death threats… I make it a point to not waste my Lady's time with the absurdities of certain nobles, if you follow."

Jordis did. Wordlessly, she handed over the missives, but not the manor documentation or the High King's correspondence, explaining, "I'm afraid the King's orders were very clear: the remaining papers are for Khepri, and her alone." After a small pause, she added, "You should also probably burn Thane Erikur's letter. How the man became a Thane is a mystery to me, as his behavior… leaves much to be desired, to put it lightly."

Callidus hummed and nodded, but read the letter anyway, eyes growing wider and smile vanishing the further he read. Arriving somewhere near the middle, his left eyebrow twitched, then he looked at Jordis, "I have read quite a few repugnant and lewd offers in my time as Steward, Houscarl, but this is the first time I actually _want_ our Lady to see what one of her… _admirers_… believes would be an, how did this rotter put it? Ah, 'an enjoyable experience for all involved'. I'm fairly sure she'd kill him simply for offering something so… debased."

"Erikur is… tolerated, in the High King's court, to put our liege's feelings delicately," replied Jordis with a wince, having been on the receiving end of said Thane's… flirtations… on more than one occasion. "The only reason he still has a head on his shoulders is due to his capability in business management, and that he has yet to… flirt… with High Queen Elisif."

"Is that what he calls it?" Callidus asked with a humored grimace, one Jordis couldn't help but laugh weakly at. With that, he crumpled the letter and tossed it into the fire, saying, "I'll let Miss Khepri know what the bastard wrote, once she returns."

As though summoned, the door to the house opened, allowing a black-maned green-eyed young woman, clad in a white-blue tunic and a heavy grizzly cloak, to enter; there was a dusting of snow on her hair, which was pulled into an intricate braid, the end clasped with a green coral buckle, and her right forearm was an honestly beautiful prosthetic made of white moonstone.

"Thirty-seven today, Cal. I've given Liora a few coins to buy part of the catch, so it'll be Skyrim rock lobster for dinner tonight. Also, your former manager in the EEC trading post, Effi-Tei, griped at me about advance orders again, and I may have been a bit rough in my responses, but he should really know better than to bother me at this time of the month. Remind me to apologize to him tomorrow, when my mood is calmer. There's also a small load of chitin for Rustlief and Seren near the pipe's mid-point; let Bori know to send someone to pick it up before nightfall. Houscarl Jordis Sword-Maiden, I presume?"

"Ah," she stood and haltingly came to attention, rather caught off guard by the rapid fire way in which Khepri spoke, the bland, flat gaze she fixed on the Houscarl, "I am. It's an honor to meet you-"

"Let us dispense with the pleasantries: the High King insisted on assigning me someone from Solitude to compliment my unwanted elevation to the status of Thane of Skyrim. I told him, multiple times, that I do not desire such a position, nor do I need more people in my household; not only has he ignored my protests, he indicated that his reasons for doing so would be explained by you upon your arrival. I know of you, Houscarl, and your deeds; few of them are secret, and you have built a sterling reputation for yourself among Skyrim's people, one which is known even here in Dawnstar. I find that commendable; indeed, I have no actual complaints in adding you to my retinue. Yet while I can find no fault in you, I am curious: why the hells is the High King so insistent on giving you to me? Why you?"

To say Jordis was intimidated was like saying the Sea of Ghosts was a little chilly. From her piercing green eyes and stern expression, to her slender yet certain bearing and the slight movement in her hair – wasps, the Houscarl realized – made clear that this was a woman only a fool would ever cross.

Jordis was no fool; she only needed three seconds of thought – and composing herself from Khepri's greeting statements to her – before answering.

"My loyalty to Skyrim and skill in property management and upkeep were likely the deciding factors, m… Miss Khepri," Jordis hid her wince at the breach of protocol and glanced at Callidus before continuing, "I… believe this is a conversation which should be done in private."

"Callidus is my trusted Steward; even if we have a private conversation, Shield-Maiden, he will know of what was discussed. Speak." Khepri's reply was iron in its stubbornness; despite her decidedly non-Nord features, Jordis really had to wonder if there wasn't Skyrim blood in her veins. It felt as though she was standing before a Jarl, or one of the Greybeards, such was the young woman's presence.

Taking a deep breath to steady herself, Jordis removed the missive from the High King and held it out for Khepri, explaining, "Our king has bid me report to one of his agents regularly, concerning all of your actions, in addition to my duties as Houscarl; this letter explains his reasoning, Miss Khepri."

Sharp green eyes flicked to the sealed letter, then back to Jordis' serene gaze, "If I dislike his reasoning, you will be dismissed back to Solitude."

"I understand. It also falls to me to inform you that, given your deeds and the decisive assistance you provided in the destruction of the Falmer, the High King and Queen of Skyrim have gifted you Proudspire Manor, a rather lovely house in Solitude, which I have looked over for much of my tenure; should you dismiss me, I will return to my duties there, until you order me further, my Thane."

Jordis felt the slightest satisfaction at the light wince on Khepri's face, before the – terribly young; the girl was likely not even twenty, now that the Houscarl looked at her properly – Beekeeper snatched the letter away, broke the seal, and read.

When she finished, there was a dark smirk on the Beekeeper's face, "You are aware of this letter's subject matter, Jordis?"

"I am, Miss Khepri." Should she apologize?

"You may stay. I will need someone to assist Houscarl Bori at Weynon Glades, once I move there, and given your talents, you will make an excellent bodyguard for my person and manor, while he deals with the guard contingent. I've heard rumor that he might be made Thane before the move; until that event comes to pass, speak to Liora. We have little room here, so you'll have to stay in one of the dockyard bunkhouses until the move. When not there, I expect you to remain nearby," she smiled at Jordis; it was… a very pleasant smile, "You wish to serve me, truly?"

"I am your Houscarl… my Thane. It is my duty; I will protect you, and all you own, with my life." It was who she was. It was all she knew how to be, a protector.

"Then you will need to learn my daily routine, and be introduced to the Chaurus," Khepri turned about and opened the door, beckoning with a friendly, almost laughing voice, "Come. Let me introduce you to my personal protector and friend, Skitter. I'm sure you two will get along quite well indeed…"

Jordis was so pleased that Khepri had found no reason to dismiss her, it wasn't until that evening, while preparing for bed, that she realized something.

Khepri the Beekeeper was the first Thane who hadn't once glanced at her breasts while in conversation.

It was then that the young Houscarl had a thought: did Khepri _need_ to look with her eyes, when she controlled every insect in a given area?

The question kept Jordis up longer than she'd ever admit to.


	19. 18: Nightmares of Lost Hours

EDIT 11/21/2020

Changed the date, as it was in error. 4E200 is the correct date, not 4E201

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Chapter 18:  
Nightmares of Lost Hours

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**.  
12th Rain's Hand, 4E200  
.**

In Dawnstar, the current month's name was less a descriptor and more a suggestion, unlike First Seed.

Case-in-point: the light snow falling all over the town, dusting the world with a sheet of sparkling white under rolling grey.

Luckily, the temperature wasn't _too _cold, only just enough to allow snowflakes to crystalize. Unfortunately – for the children, mostly – this meant the streets were rather slushy most of the time, with the dropping temperatures promising a cold wet night to come.

My Chaurus didn't mind – they'd all be in the grotto or in the nest of hay Skitter made under my porch – and neither did most of the guards, the Nords in particular some of whom bid myself and Jordis, who was dressed-down for the evening, greetings as they passed my house by.

Skitter was dozing under the porch with Imp and Bentley, while Sophia and Defiant watched the snow from the greenhouse door, and the rest of the Hunters were hiding in the evergreens on the ridge, or, in Rachel and Amy's case, cleaning their shells in the gravel of Skitter's old den. Erandur had even found time to come visit for tea and conversation, earlier, so I was in a pleasant mood, pursuing a rare book Farkas sent me in the mail: _The Song of Pelinal_, a poetic recounting of the Alessian Rebellion against the Ayleid kings of Cyrodiil.

Quiet evenings like these were common, of late. With the settlement and manor at Weynon nearly completed – Bori and his family had moved just three days ago, to ensure the final stages of construction weren't bothered by any bandits – and most of the Dawnstar operation of my business under Cal's direction – five new employees, as well as his new wife, would aid his efforts – there was little for me to actually do, other than tend to my Chaurus herd and enjoy my quiet retirement.

Still…

"Jordis." My Houscarl – and secret contact with the High King's court – looked up from oiling her armor at my quiet call, "You've read of Pelinal Whitestrake, yes?"

She nodded and replied, "Yes, m… Khepri. The Bard's College have the song in their library, and he is a major character in Tamriel's history."

I flipped from one page to the other, frowning, "Why does he seem more a Dwemer automaton than mortal man, then?" She bit her lip, looking like she wanted to laugh; I didn't understand. "Honestly. I understand the need for vengeance, I understand the plight of enslaved Man, I even understand the need to destroy the Ayleids… but was he really so… so…"

"Utterly devoted to his task, to the exclusion of just about everything else?" she almost sounded… proud?

Then again, if there was anything I truly admired about Jordis, it was her sense of right and duty. Unlike Pelinal, though, I was fairly sure she'd have spared the Khajiit; there was revenge, and then there was… _that_.

"I have difficulty believing such a powerful person could be so… single-minded and bloodthirsty."

"Who can say, Khepri? It was nearly five millennia ago; different times, different situation." She paused. "And it was for an honestly good cause."

"Yet Cyrodiil allowed the Argonians to be enslaved in Morrowind… but, then, the Tribunal. Still, I've noticed multiple inconsistencies and paradoxes with Tamriel's history. Pelinal, here, is only the most recent one; take the accounts of the Dragon Break, for example," I went on relentlessly, drawing a sigh from Jordis. "Mannimarco said something about Pelinal knowing how to find him, during that event, but… was Pelinal even a man? He seems more like some kind of… small Numidium, or something."

Jordis blinked at me. "A… small… Brass God, my Thane?"

I nodded, examining some Falkreath tree spider silk that I'd woven into a napkin. The latest specimens in my quest to locate strong silk were more temperamental than the local cave spiders or Frostbites, but the tensile strength appeared sturdy, much more so than the local fare.

Soon, I might be able to make some… _exciting_… surprises for Farkas. Just the thought made a part of me want to giggle in mischief; I suppressed the urge. Not in front of Jordis. She was still too…

Well, I was going to punch a certain Thane of Solitude in the face, sometime in the future.

Yes, annoying him with flies would be fitting, given his… tendencies, but sometimes it was more satisfying to mete out punishment directly than do so with the Swarm. I was a Thane of Skyrim, apparently, which gave me a certain authority in _all_ the Holds; there wasn't much Thane Erikur would able to do in reply and survive.

Besides, the way he'd treated Jordis deserved no less than a badly broken nose. Perhaps I'd wear spider silk gloves when I did the deed.

"There's the whole 'hand of light' thing," I continued my musings on the Divine Crusader while idly checking how stretchy the square of silk was; an acceptable amount of give, considering the weave, "and how he single-handedly destroyed whole armies without taking seriously debilitating injuries, and _then_ there's the claim that his gear were given to him by the Divines, which can't be verified, as their canon states the Aedra don't give out artifacts like the Daedra-"

"My… Khepri," Jordis' tone was somewhat suffering; looking at her, I found her gaze full of… pity? "Pelinal lived at the same time as Saint Alessia, in an age of legends, where the Dwemer still walked the earth and the Snow Elves were still occasionally seen here in Skyrim. Was he a Man, blessed by the Divines, or was he simply a drunk warrior who impressed the Dwemer enough that they gifted him armaments worthy of his stature?" she shrugged, and went back to her armor, "Does it matter? The slaves were freed, the Ayleids were destroyed. Whatever the truth, I am as thankful for his existence as I am of yours, my Thane."

I nodded, slowly, and sighed tiredly, ignoring the light coloring of Jordis' face. "Yes. Forgive me, I just… am curious about the history of Tamriel, especially the legends of other heroes; some of these tales are very strange."

That, and Pelinal's story seemed to parallel my own, somewhat. He freed the Imperials from the Ayleids, and I freed the Chaurus from the Falmer. But, whereas I would likely be mentioned as playing a minor role in the actual conflict, Pelinal was just…

Maybe I had a hard time seeing someone doing… all of _that_, without any superpowers. Then again, the Dwemer _could've_ aided him, and the Divines _could've_ made his arms and armor, but the story itself was just so… ridiculous! And for such an important individual, as well!

"You learn to live with it, Khepri. Much of Tamriel's history can be quite strange, like Vivec's sermons, so it's easier to just accept what you see at face value and only dig into the details if you have to, otherwise you'll disappear behind a stack of tomes until you find yourself reading something called _Wabbajack_ or _Dance of the Three-Legged Guar _without remembering why."

"Personal experience?" perhaps I'd hold off on the history of the world for a while longer. I'd managed to buy a copy of _The Complete Mystery of Talara_ from the trading post but hadn't yet cracked it open. I mentally added reading it to tomorrow's schedule, as I felt a yawn coming on.

"I was young and too curious for my own good." Jordis looked up at me, "Also, you should get some sleep; the move is in three days, and you'll need your strength for the ride down to Weynon."

"Yes… you'll be staying up, as usual?" I asked, rising from my chair while simultaneously combing over my swarms and the Chaurus, making sure Skitter would manage everything in my absence.

[**your female companion is correct, my Queen**] Skitter intoned as she mentally counted her fellow Chaurus; five new commons had been born, over the past week, and seven would likely molt into Hunters after we moved south. [**rest. I, and she, will watch over these lands as you recover your strength**]

Jordis nodded as I was mentally bombarded with [**agreement**] and [**adoration**] from my Chaurus, the Nord woman smiling slightly, a rare thing from her, "Yes. The aurora are… more beautiful here, than in Solitude," she stood, briefly, to pat me on the shoulder in farewell, a gesture I returned with a smile of my own, "Pleasant dreams, Khepri."

"Thank you, Jordis. Don't stay up too late," with a smile of farewell, I reentered my house. _My_ house. And soon, I'd be living in a _manor_.

Goodness, if… _they_, the Undersiders, could see me now…

I wondered, as I curled up in bed, the spiders put away and notes added to the reams already in existence…

I wondered: what would the people I once knew think of me now?

**.**

**.**

**.**

_"You never learned to ask for help when you needed it."_

**_Sixteen feet. Bone on my chest. Him, the man with scales and flame, standing between us._**

_"Oh god oh god oh god." **Her. Amy. A touch to save the world. Why is she crying?**_

_"I mean, you ask when you approach other groups." **Her, the girl whose smile I liked. She wasn't smiling. She looked… sad. **"but it's like you're holding a gun to their heads while you ask, or you ask at a time when it's hard for them to say no, because all hell's about to break loose."_

**_But I don't. I didn't have to ask… I just told them, and then Jarl Skald started the Muster._**

_"Yeah, you asked [**Amy**]. You asked me to play along and arrange stuff, when you went to go **…** Your handling of the **…** well, I don't want to get into a pattern and start cutting too deep. Let's just say you make a decision by yourself, and then you use others to get help carrying it out. That's not really you asking for help, is it?"_

**_…what are you talking about? I… I didn't use them. I didn't! I didn't even ask for their aid! I'd have gone alone if I had to!_**

**_…why can't I speak?_**

_"While I'm saying all this, kiddo, you gotta know I love you. I adore you, warts and all. You saved me, as much as I like to think I saved you. All this stuff I'm bitching about, it's the same stuff that got us through some pretty hairy shit, and I love you for it **...** You're brilliant and you're reckless and you **…** I really wish you'd leave things well enough alone and be selfish. But this?"_

**_This? What do you mean, this?!_**

**_What is… no. No, not here._**

**_Not again._**

_"Shit," _**_she shook her head, tears in her eyes,_**_ "You gotta forgive me, just this once. Because seeing this and knowing what you pulled hurts enough that I gotta say this. This makes me feel really sorry for **…** because I'm starting to get a sense of what you put him through."_

**_No._**

**_Nonononono-_**

**_._**

**_Blonde, wet dog smell and muscles, stepping toward me_**_ **no no Rachel nonononoGET AWAY-**_

**_I push her back._**

**_"Mm."_**

**_Her again._**_ **Why isn't she smiling? Please… one more smile. Just… one more. "Why the fuck would you do that?" **_

**'Because she trusts me far too much.' _I thought that then. _**

**_She was right to._**

**_"She's smarter than I am." Rachel… "Let her do what she needs to."_**

**_._**

**_Doors everywhere extend my range twist and twine must protect these two keep them close-_**

**_Savethem._**

**_ImustImustImust._**

**_Savethem_**

**_all._**

**_._**

**_FIGHT_**

**_IhavetowinIhavetowinIhaveto-_**

**_FIGHT_**

**_-winwin winhaveto win somanyare dyinghaveto focusfocusfocus-_**

**_FIGHT_**

**_-buildHEhas aweaknessfound itjust likethema CORE weakpointhave tobreakit have to-_**

**_FIGHT_**

**_-win. Nomatter thecostIhave tokillhimhave to stop this. I havetoensure everyonesurvives Ican'tgiveup _**

**_FIGHT_**

**_I-WE-must survive._**

**_._**

**_Build parry FIGHT FIGHT FIGHT build flee HE is coming ripping tearing FIGHT fightback fightbackk FIGHT FIGHT hewillkill neverstop destroying…_**

**_[He Is Human]_**

_A small voice, my voice, almost drowned out by screeching howls of the **GOLD MORNING**._

_'I can work with that.'_

**_[we]_**

_[together'_

**.**

**_He fights, but he is flagging. I/We are limited, now, butit's almost donea little moreandit'll be over andIcanrest._**

**_Farkas charges past._**

**_No._**

**_Nostop._**

**_[stop'_**

**_…whywon't heStOP?_**

**_HE looks _**

**_betweenus _**

**_and smiiillleesssss-_**

**_GOLD._**

**_Blood._**

**_[No.' _**

**_No. No, not Farkas!_**

**_Nonononono thisisn'treal thisisn't_****[real]_ thiscan'tbereal thisDIDN'T _[HAPPEN]**

**_WE WILL[KILL]YOU, {ZI-_**

**.**

**.**

**.**

My eyes snapped open _and my swarm was there_.

**HE** wasn't, but that wouldn't last long.

I could almost feel the earth quaking at **HIS** approach.

I needed to prepare myself, and my swarms.

[**queen?**] [**danger!**] [**queen!**] [**queen!**] [**danger!**]

I was out of my bed, searching for my gear and weapons while directing my swarms to scout the edges of my range, the sturdier insects moved closer to me; why did I put so many far away from me? No matter, that'd be rectified in a few moments. The sword- in my trunk. I needed to kit myself before returning to the fight.

The jump pack was gone; Contessa didn't send it with me, but that made sense. How could I maintain it, anyway? The lack of a spider-silk suit was mildly upsetting, but I still hadn't found any silk that could compare to dragline, not _yet_ anyway.

The moonstone magical prosthetic was where I left it; that went on my stump quickly, while I wondered: why hadn't **HE **attacked yet? The area I was in was cold, so my swarms wouldn't be as effective, it was the perfect opportunity-

[**queen! Queen Khepri, please stop and tell me what is the matter?!**]

I… hesitated, recent memories flitting into the fore, overtaking my frantic preparations. _'S… Skitter?'_

[**my Queen, please, why are you so distressed?! It is too cold for the little ones to be outside!**]

I was… forcing my control on the Chaurus.

Even worse, my trunk was open, and my sword, still sheathed, was in my hand. I dropped it with a gasp.

I'd… I'd been about to _attack_ and _control_ everything around me; I'd even formed plans for _abducting the court wizard _and _using Conjuration to control the whole town_. My insects were _everywhere_, in houses and businesses, the Jarl's quarters and the barracks, all searching for a threat, for **HIM**; no one had woken, and the guards hadn't noticed but…

For a moment, I'd been transported back to that awful battle, to **Gold Morning**.

_'Oh, Skitter, everyone, I'm so sorry!'_ I thought at my Chaurus, gently pushing the little ones back toward the cave, sending Twinkie and Bullet to make sure everyone was accounted for and safe; it was so _cold_ out, what was I _thinking?!_

The image flashed before my eyes again: **the GOLDEN MAN**, killing _Farkas_, in that awful final battle…

But that was ridiculous, I thought, trying not to cry at my thoughtlessness, or the [**pain**] coming from my little ones – or the sharp and painful vision of the man I admired dying to **_Him_ **– as I stumbled through dressing myself, doing my best to take my Chaurus' [**pain**] onto myself while sending what [**soothing**] feelings I could, to calm their [**fear**] for my person. Skitter and my Hunters weren't mollified, close to me as they were; Imp, in particular, was [**anxious**] for me, but I couldn't see _exactly_ what she was doing, to keep me calm.

I put that from my mind, and examined my thoughts on my dear companion, Farkas.

Farkas was in Markarth, last I'd heard, delivering some artifacts from Blackreach to Calcelmo's nephew, the curator of that city's Dwemer museum. As such, there was only one explanation for seeing him in a… nightmare…

A nightmare.

I had a nightmare, of **that day**, for the first time since arriving in Tamriel. A nightmare so awful, I nearly killed my Chaurus and attacked the people of Dawnstar in a panic.

I choked back a furious sob while pulling a snowy saber cat cloak around my body, praying as I left my room for the stairs, "Kynareth, Julianos, clear my mind and help me see the truth of this!" I took my sword with me, of course.

It was the first time, since my arrival in Tamriel, where I'd dreamt of… **that day**.

This could not be coincidence or happenstance.

I never had anxiety where Farkas was concerned; he was strong, brave, and intelligent. Few were the threats in Skyrim that could fell my dear companion, and he assured me – repeatedly, both in person and what few letters came from him – that he would take pains to steer clear of such enemies.

Therefore, _someone had attacked me with dreams._

I would ensure they regretted this assault _forthwith._

"…my Th- Khepri?!" Jordis bolted up from her bed on seeing my state, my own eyes – and what few insects that I wasn't carefully putting back to sleep in their designated places – frantically searching for threats, both for inconsistencies in our house or the town. I couldn't see any odd artifacts _yet_, but the weather made my search slow-going. "Khepri, what is the matter?"

Then Imp knocked on the door. Sophia was watching the alley, Defiant lurking in the gardens, while Skitter and Bentley prowled the front of my house, [**concern**], [**watchfulness**] and [**devotion**] coloring the Hive Mind from my Hunters, my personal guardians.

"A n-nightmare," I gulped, not trusting myself to speak any further, for the rage and self-hate coursing my veins, and opened the door.

There was Imp, blue-green eyes somehow conveying her worry better than the Hive Mind could…

And her mandibles were holding around six golden necklaces with pendants. One of them was an Amulet of Julianos.

[**shiny**] Imp broadcasted, her intent clear: she was bringing me shiny things, so I would be cheered up and distracted from whatever was making me sad. Tears filled my eyes, touched by her simple actions and the continuing care of the Chaurus, even after I hurt them-

"Where did she…" Jordis began incredulously, cut off as I wetly laughed and stroked my sneaky girl's head.

"The Dwemer ruins, most likely," I sniffed, a smile returning to my face at my Imp's thoughtfulness, slowly calming down-

One of the Frost-Glows woke from their sleep, screaming in terror.

My sorrow was dashed, replaced with _purpose _and _fury_ as I examined the sleep patterns of everyone in the town; my heart jolted when I realized that over _half_ of them, including Frida the Alchemist and _Jarl Skald,_ were having troubled sleep. Five more people woke from their own nightmares; if this went unchecked, spouses might harm each other seriously before realizing what was happening, to say nothing of what might happen to the children. Young people were notorious for not knowing when to hold back.

"Jordis, get your armor on and sound the alarm." I snapped, taking the amulet of the Divine of Wisdom and looping it around my neck. "A mage, who is likely outside my range, is attacking us with dreams."

"_Vaermina_," my Houscarl spat, mirroring my own suspicions as I patted Imp in thanks and strode from my house, my Chaurus Hunters quickly spreading themselves out in ones and twos, some searching the crags and fields for the mage, while the others surrounded me as an honor guard while I marched for the longhouse, shouting for the guards and directing them to where they were needed most, all my mind intent on ensuring the town's safety.

**.**

For 34 years, Skald the Elder had ruled Dawnstar in relative peace – the Great War, the toll it took on the town's sons and daughters, and those who returned, notwithstanding.

Yes, there were the Brass Bows, and yes, the Ghostbeards had been a thorn in his foot for some time, and _yes_, there was that bloody thrice-damned necromancer what the Companions took care of last summer. But other than that? Skald Felgeif's tenure as Jarl was relatively peaceful, compared to the other, more lucrative Holds, who were near-constantly fighting off brigands.

Though, now, Skald could hold his head high and say _his_ Hold was becoming rather lucrative; one of the more practical reasons he'd warmed to Khepri's presence.

Yes, she was an odd one, only a moron wouldn't be able to see how… _non-Tamrielan_ she was. Yet, in this, Skald held his tongue; what did her unusualness matter, when by her hand his people were smiling, laughing, and gold was flowing into his town and Hold?

It'd seemed nothing but bright, happy days were ahead.

And _now_…

_He'd dreamt of the day his father died, when Dawnstar half-burned from those worshipers of Dagon out of the south._

Intellectually, he knew they'd been slaughtered to the least and last, the Vigilants arriving just in the nick of time.

Yet logic was nothing in the face of reliving the worst 5 hours of his life, in vivid nightmare.

Rare were the days Skald would take up his axe, nevermind lay it on his lap while seated on his throne. Rarer still were the days when his wife, Ingne, would be present in his Hall as he held court; she was more concerned with writing to their son, who was attending the Bard's college, than the matters of the Hold. Here, however, Skald was glad for her presence in the corner of his eye; his rock, the only person who could see the real him…

The only one who knew how many scars were laid on his skin and soul.

It was not the normal time for court, however, the time being three bells in the morning, yet court was being held, and all those most important personages in his town were present. Yet even with their presence, their camaraderie in the face of hardships… not since taking up the mantle of Jarl, did Skald feel so _vulnerable_.

Front and center were the three finest warriors in the Hold, one of whom was famously 'retired': Khepri, her face grave and icy as her eyes tracked something only she could see, stroking Hunter Bentley's head as a way to keep herself calm; Jod, his own Houscarl, who'd searched the snowberry fields and examined the Dawn Fields, his expression a mask of hard resolve; and Frokmar Banner-Torn, the guard captain and representative to Jarl Ulfric, his usually friendly and happy face now full of anger.

Around them were others: Rustlief and Seren, the wife stroking her pale-faced husband's shoulders in comfort; Frida, the usually bubbly and vivacious elderly woman now clearly irritated where she sat along the east wall with Jurgan, the town's Priest of Arkay, who'd aided the general population in the wake of the… attack. His counterpart Priest, Erandur of Mara, was standing nearer to Khepri, red eyes dark and contemplative as he sipped some of the tea Houscarl Jordis made for those who needed it.

Grinding his teeth together, Skald spoke, his voice a furious growl, "Vaermina."

Erandur nodded, lips pursed and voice clipped, "It's common knowledge in this town that Nightcaller Tower was once the den to a Daedric cult; the Vigilants briefed myself and Jurgan when we were posted here. As you know, my Jarl, the Tower was sealed, but…"

"Magical barriers can wear out, over time." Madena, the court wizard, stated in a weary voice; like many present, she'd suffered from the horrible visions that assaulted the town. "There _has_ been a slight uptick of unpleasant dreams and night terrors, though I'd long considered that to be natural; most of them were children and veterans, and, well, many children are vulnerable to troubled nights. The veterans… well, their nightmares have obvious causes."

"And now the truth of the matter is clear." Skald growled again, a hot fury building in his guts. "Someone's broken into that Tower and is attacking my town."

"The door is still sealed, my Jarl," Khepri stated; another rare thing was the young woman's voice being colored with real anger. "I just had a Frostbite Spider test the entry; the barrier seems to be intact, but that's just the door, and I'm not about to have Skitter tear the whole tower down. It's right above the iron mine, the Chaurus cave, and the hot water pipe."

Left unsaid, but clearly implied, was that she _very much_ wanted to level that blighted place. From the looks of things, just about everyone agreed.

"My Jarl," Erandur spoke up, though he sounded… hesitant? "I have been trained in the destruction of Daedric artifacts, and am experienced in magical combat. I can investigate Nightcaller Tower, possibly discover the source of this curse-"

"And then what?" Jod snarled suspiciously, not the only one casting a doubtful gaze on the Dunmer priest. "So you know of the items, aye, but _their _followers are worse. What do you know of Daedra worshipers, Priest?"

"I was not always a Priest, Jod." Erandur's quiet, admonishing reply made Jod pull up before he could get going; sighing, the Priest continued, "Yet, you have a point: my old life was long seasons ago, and if there are traps or beasts lying in wait, I may not have the ability to deal with them all."

Jarl Skald nodded, "I agree, and more: you're rather well-liked around here, Erandur, both by the older crowd and the younger. Replacing you would be… annoying."

Khepri looked up, face deceptively calm, tone light and conversational, "By your leave, my Jarl?"

The tension in the room rose, slightly, but no one spoke up against her, not even Erandur, who Khepri was close friends with; rather, they looked to Skald, who closed his eyes in thought.

It was an easy decision, but at the same time, it galled him. Giving Khepri permission to go would be akin to sending a Legion to deal with a small gang of bandits; yes, Daedra worshipers were hardly bandits, but it was _Khepri_. The word 'overkill' was rather apt… but then, better overkill than possibly half-assing the job.

At the same time…

He pointed his axe at Khepri, speaking as though to his own child, "You go up there with Erandur, examine the place, and if it seems too dangerous for the pair of you to go it alone – it's cold as an ice wraith's breath tonight, so you'll be limited to your Hunters and yourself – then you two march right back on down here, get some sleep, and wait until daybreak. Frokmar! I know Carcette's down in Riften seeing to that fort with those Dawnguard folk, but there'll be some Vigilants still in their headquarters; grab who you can, and bring them here. Best case, they'll have to walk over what's left after Erandur and Khepri sack the place."

Then he looked at the Thane of Skyrim and Priest of Mara, who both blinked at him, "I'd say take Jordis with you, Khepri, but if whoever's done this has others waiting outside your range, I don't want to take any chances. Go, deal with this, and Gods willing it'll be the last time you'll have to take up arms for my Hold."

"Knowing my luck, my Jarl, that won't be the case." Skald snorted at her dry tone; still, she rose, bowed, and left, Erandur and Bentley at her heels.

Jarl Skald sighed, then rose from his chair, giving Banner-Torn the order to wake him if there were any developments, for good or ill.

Then he returned to bed, and his wife's embrace, and tried not to think of fire and chanting in the night.

**.**

Erandur had been worried that Khepri would take the revelation of his past badly. In his time as a devotee to Vaermina, he'd committed… crimes, ones that took years of devotion to the Divines in general and Mara in particular to heal from. Even though the scars had healed over, with this latest attack from those he'd thought long gone…

Some wounds never truly healed, and he feared what Khepri, a woman he truly respected and cared for, would think of him.

She'd gazed at him for a long moment with an unreadable expression, Skitter, Bentley, Imp, Defiant and Judas surrounding her. In that moment, Erandur feared his life was measured in minutes, or seconds.

"We all began as something else, Erandur," she finally said, softly, repeating the words he'd said to her on Heart's Day a million years ago. Her smile returned, small and fragile, yet not pitying, but understanding. "I am the last person who should judge another's past, given my own misdeeds before arriving here; regardless, I know nothing of this Casimir person you used to be. I've only known the Mer before me, whose name is Erandur. And he is a good person."

And that was that, apparently.

Though, as they entered the Temple proper – Skitter had a bit of trouble with the entryway, but managed in the end – and proceeded into its depths-

Erandur chuckled as the Chaurus used their caustic saliva to remove the bars lining the inner wall of the hallway, so they could crawl around the walls and access the soul gem focus for the barrier. "I say, I'm glad you're here, otherwise we'd have to employ more, ah, _esoteric_ means to bypass this obstacle."

Khepri huffed and tapped the hilt of her sword, casting a dark look at the magic surrounding the Skull of Corruption, "I take it we'd have to use some Daedric ritual or other?"

"Likely."

"Then I am glad as well."

-Erandur wondered about something, a gossip that reached his ears over the weeks.

Yet, he waited until they'd passed all the enemies lying in wait to address the rumor.

"So, Farkas of the Companions?"

His tone was conversational, but slightly breathless; indeed, he'd let himself get a bit lazy, in the years between _then_ and _now_.

Khepri's grin came back in full, the glowing blush and brightness of her eyes at odds with the sight of the woman cleaning her bloodied blade, "Yes. He…" she gave Erandur a look, "I tell you these things in confidence."

"I will not tell a soul, until Arkay takes me," and he meant it, too. Khepri would find out if he blabbed.

"I feel safe with him." she sighed, clearly wistful and smitten. "Yes, he isn't the most handsome man in the world, or the smartest, and I would be fooling myself to say he is the strongest physically… but these shortcomings don't matter to me. He is kind, caring, and has such a strong sense of justice and what is right or wrong; he is brave and dauntless in the face of adversity, and though he isn't a scholar by any stretch, Farkas is still the furthest thing from stupid… because he's _wise_. He says he was given the strength of Ysgramor, while his brother was given his smarts… but, between you and me, Erandur, I think it was an even split.

"He writes me sometimes, you know; he is so good at describing the places he goes, it's almost like I'm there," she sighed, happy and sad all at once, "If it weren't for my business, I'd happily travel with him, see this beautiful and storied country – oh, all the sights we could see, without fear of anyone or thing bothering us. The secrets we could uncover, together…" she laughed, and the Chaurus seemed to brighten at the sound, happy that she was happy, "Maybe when we're older, and have fewer responsibilities but still have our strength."

He could see it, and smiled to see that light in Khepri: the way her arms moved expressively, how her voice was cheery and bright as she spoke of Farkas.

Khepri was falling in love, and it was a beautiful thing to see.

No jealousy appeared in his heart, for which Erandur was grateful; what he and Khepri shared that night was… wonderful, yet also mildly stressful. While she was an amazing lover, she was a better friend and confidant, in his eyes.

"Well, I shall pray to Mara, for you both to have many years of happiness," his smile turned a bit teasing as he straightened and prepared for the final push, "Perhaps I'll even have the honor and privilege of marrying the two of you."

Khepri's blush and muttering excuses – it was too soon to even speak of such things, apparently – were adorable… yet, all good things must come to an end.

Thorek and Veren were still alive.

"We knew you'd come, _traitor_." Thorek spat; behind the two leaders of Vaermina's cult, the barrier around the Skull seemed like… a _lens_, "Our Lady awakened us, alerted by your proximity."

"And so you used the Skull's abilities to torment the people of Dawnstar, drawing me out." Erandur replied bitterly, "Well, it was useless; I will still stop you."

"Hmph," Veren was dismissive, spells swirling around his arms, looking between Erandur and Khepri, who seemed bored, "Big words for someone who whored himself to the Divines. Our Lady's power is in us, and-"

**"Oh, good. You're finally here. I was worried you taken a wrong turn and gotten lost on the road of life again, Erandur."**

A voice, that was both pleasant and terrifying, rang in the hall. It seemed to come from the Skull… which meant…

"Vaermina, I presume." Khepri's tone was disgust and suspicion as one, Imp and Judas chittering at her sides.

Thorek snarled, "You _dare_ speak to our-!"

**"You presume correctly, Khepri Dawnbringer."** Vaermina replied, ignoring the confusion of Thorek and Veren… and Erandur, too. Dawnbringer? **"Though I'll understand if you continue living without a surname; it is merely what some of our more _reliable _servants call you."**

"Not to mention how pretentious it sounds," Khepri rolled her shoulders and looked between the increasingly hostile devotees to Vaermina, "I take it Dawnstar has these two to thank for making them relive their darkest moments?"

**"Correct."**

Then Skitter fell on Veren and Thorek from above, smashing both of their heads into the cobblestones so hard they splattered like a pair of melons.

Given all the injuries and troubles they'd visited upon Dawnstar over the past few hours, Erandur didn't feel the least bit of remorse for the _s'wits_.

Vaermina expressed a relieved sigh, **"Thank _Father_, they're finally gone! All night and day, it's _Casimir did this_, and _we will have our revenge_. Ugh; three years of putting up with their blithering plots was almost enough to make me go ask Sanguine for a drink. I was _this close_ to asking Vile for a favor, did you know? Oh, and Erandur? Be a dear and send my Skull back into Oblivion?"**

Erandur blinked, not… understanding what exactly was going on, but who was he to argue? Still, "Let it be clear that I already intended to do that, and am _not_ interested in becoming your Champion, Lady Vaermina."

He was still polite, of course; only an idiot or a zealot disrespected the Daedric Princes to their faces.

**"I'd sooner Champion a scrib, or a guar, than willingly bring _you_ back into the fold, _Priest of Mara_," **Vaermina said disparagingly; while Erandur prepared to banish the Skull, the Prince of Dream and Nightmare addressed Khepri warmly, **"Apologies for my followers interrupting your rest and retirement, Khepri… and my own machinations, of course; it was the quickest and most efficient way to get rid of the sods so I could set up a better challenge somewhere else."**

Did… did a _Daedric Prince_ just apologize to _Khepri?_

Erandur ignored that, and focused on opening his magic and soul to the Divines.

"I accept your apology, Vaermina, but I won't be forgetting this," he heard Khepri reply, her Chaurus buzzing fiercely with her words, "It really would be a shame to have to wage war against any Daedric Prince, nevermind how much stress that'd put me through."

**"Hmm, yes, you wouldn't be able to pull off the 'gray-haired and young' look, anyway. Well, hopefully we won't cross paths again. Farewell, Erandur, Khepri. Oh, and say hello to Sam for me, would you?"**

"Wait, what?"

The Skull vanished back into Oblivion with a swirl of purple-red-black light, as Erandur finished his ritual; shaking himself, he turned an incredulous look on Khepri, who looked extremely confused herself, "Dawnbringer?"

She looked rather uncomfortable, "I'd… really rather not talk about that. Let's just say that my final battle was against a very powerful Daedra and leave it at that."

"Fair enough…" Erandur glanced around and huffed, before looking at Khepri, "So… we tell the Jarl that we came here, found a couple Daedra worshippers mucking about?"

She nodded and sheathed her sword, seeming to have collected herself, "Yes. And we make sure to emphasize Skitter making sure they were well and truly dead."

_"zzzzPuny monsterszzz"_ buzzed Skitter, crawling up the wall while Khepri and Erandur made their way back through the Temple for the surface, ignoring Imp's grabbing of every ring, jewel, and tapestry she could carry in her saddlebags.

"…Khepri, a philosophical question."

"Very well. It'll keep me awake, at least."

"Imp doesn't have a saddle, so are they still saddlebags?"

After a moment of staring blankly into the middle distance, Khepri's lip quirked in humor, "Buggy-bags."

Erandur was glad she still had a sense of humor, even after the meeting with the Daedra; he really needed that laugh.


	20. 19: The Wheel Turns

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Chapter 19:  
The Wheel Turns

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**16th Rain's Hand, 4E200  
****White-Gold Tower, Imperial City, Cyrodiil  
****Emperor Titus Mede II**

Since the Oblivion Crisis, only four White-Gold Roses had been given to citizens of the Empire, all of them posthumously.

Three during the Infernal City Crisis early in the Era, and one during the Great War; while he wasn't present for the first three, and didn't know more than the three recipients being local champions who gave their lives so their towns would have time to flee, Emperor Titus Mede II remembered the fourth as though it were yesterday.

It was for a Redguard farmhand in Hammerfell, Fodri, who ran a fatal marathon in bringing news of the Dominion's advance to the Legion at Skaven.

For all the good it did, anyway. The defeat was still bitter in the Emperor's mouth.

But today, a rare event occurred: it was the day where the awarding of a fifth White-Gold Rose would be decided.

This one was intended for Khepri the Beekeeper of Dawnstar, a purveyor of honey goods and researcher of insects, who was nominated by a Thalmor High Justicar, of all things, for her decisive assistance with the Muster of Mzinchaleft.

That event, the Muster, was a novelty for the broadsheets throughout Tamriel, a delightful distraction from the dark portents of… well, just about everything else. There, in the dark of a Dwemer ruin, every major group on the continent, from Thalmor to Stormcloak militias, to Daedra worshipper and servants of the Divines, put aside their differences and turned their blades and spells on an age-old threat: the Falmer.

Historically, other campaigns had been carried out in an attempt to exterminate the waxy horrors from their holes, to no avail; even Tiber Septim had tried in the past, before using the Numidium to subjugate his enemies. Several High Kings of Skyrim had tried it, sometimes with assistance from the Imperial Legion; each time, only defeat awaited them, the tactics of the Empire's finest unsuited for the guerilla warfare of the Falmer, or the lethality of their Chaurus pets.

But the Muster of Mzinchaleft succeeded… because that same Beekeeper, Khepri, who was barely even a woman, won the hearts of the Chaurus. Khepri, a "retired veteran" who appeared at the edge of the sea and brought fortune to a sleepy little town at the edge of the world, who walked boldly with the Chaurus and the Muster into the dark under Skyrim, the mythical cavern of Blackreach, and fought by their side until the Falmer were destroyed, to the least and last (officially), ensuring victory with a sky-darkening swarm of insects and a full legion of Chaurus…

And without missing a beat, Khepri returned to her business and tending to a small herd of Chaurus that followed her around, leaving the spoils to the Muster and the remaining Chaurus to roam freely in Blackreach, as though her actions were pedestrian, rather than the stuff of legend the common folk of the _entire continent _was treating them as.

Not that everyone was dancing in the streets, of course; it was more "oh, how about that?" than "by the Gods, she's the next Empress! Praise her!"

Still, Titus thought, yawning as one of the Councilors kept droning, it wasn't like he was particularly _popular..._ though, he felt he was still an effective steward to the Ruby Throne.

Emperor Mede had received many a report on Khepri, both from the Legion and his own hidden agents. They confused him sometimes; she knew exactly how scary she was, but didn't lord it over others, only intimidating those who might do her or the people around her harm. Otherwise, she was kind and gentle, adored by children and adult alike; that her early products were of the highest quality – he'd managed to secure one of her second-runs of artisanal honey, and it was mighty fine indeed – helped buoy her popularity in Skyrim, and elsewhere. There was nothing that got the public talking like a humble hero, after all.

But still, the Emperor was baffled; no one knew where Khepri came from, not a soul, but the people of Skyrim welcomed her with open arms.

After thinking it over the previous night, after being discreetly delivered a letter from the girl herself, the Emperor of Cyrodiil had his answer: in lauding her at the highest levels of his nation's government, High King Torygg managed to bridge the gap between… not the Empire and Stormcloak, but the _High King's Court_ and Ulfric Stormcloak.

There was talk, that'd reached Titus' ears in hushed whispers, that Jarl Ulfric was putting forward a new suggestion: that so long as Tiber Septim's legacy was allowed to be venerated, as a Saint of the Eight rather than a Divine himself, and the Thalmor were withdrawn from Skyrim, the skirmishes would stop.

It wouldn't be clean as all that; before Khepri, Titus was sure there would be a convenient _accident_ and all sixteen hells would break loose.

And then that letter arrived, and he had his answer: businesswoman though she was, Khepri wanted a calm retirement, and anyone who interfered with that… well, look at the Falmer. High King Torygg and Ulfric Stormcloak were planning to turn every Talos shrine into a memorial to Tiber Septim's deeds before leading the Red Legions; some of those areas were near Khepri's land, or near Dawnstar, which she defended numerous times against superior enemies.

Skyrim had an army killer, and the girl only wanted everyone to get along so she could make mead and honey in peace.

In fact, that there was debate over giving her a Rose, ostensibly for saving the lives of hundreds when the Chaurus Reaper Tyrant came for the Muster's souls, struck the Emperor as odd; why _shouldn't_ they do whatever, to please the girl who could, according to Tullius, roll over whole Legions without breaking stride? It should've been a no-brainer.

Or, it would have, if he didn't know the Elder Council better.

Currently, one of them – a bureaucrat from Morrowind, he thought – was droning on about how it wouldn't be the done thing, to award someone a Rose when they willingly spoke in friendship with a certain fugitive, namely Drevas of Mournhold, Grand Proven of the Cult of Boethiah and one of the most wanted beings on the continent.

Granted, the Dunmer Council Member had a point, but as Musters of Skyrim historically waived crimes committed beforehand – and, in rare cases, provided the chance for a pardon – and there wasn't any proof of the Mer doing anything _officially_ illegal since he killed three Elder Council members and a Moth Priest during the Great War, all the Council Member was doing was wasting everyone's time. The Emperor had a letter from Khepri herself on his throne's armrest, the content of which he wanted to address sometime _before _lunch, and Council Member Sarano was going to put them all to sleep if allowed; it wouldn't be the first time.

"Thank you, Councilor Sarano, your concerns are heard by your fellows among the Empire," the "official" ruler of Tamriel cut across the Mer's droning speech, his tone anything but thankful. "However, as has been said _numerous times_ since the Great War, actually trying to arrest Drevas of Mournhold is not being considered at this time. So long as he commits no more crimes and keeps himself in Skyrim, the Empire will leave him be."

"But what of his correspondence with Khepri-"

"What correspondence?" the Councilor from Orsinium grunted, obviously bored out of his skull, "The, what, five conversations they've had? Or are you talking about the time she told him off for not bathing?"

Sarano, in the face of light chuckles and snorts from his fellows, _finally_ sat down in a huff; nearly an hour of trying to bore them to death, and the idiot was _upset_ at being cut short? Titus made a mental note to find out if Sarano was still being unfaithful in his marriage; a little blackmail and subtle threats would avoid a torturous repeat of today.

Before the Thalmor "Ambassador" could open his mouth and ask if _now_ was a good time to award the Rose to Khepri, Titus picked up the letter under his elbow with a small smile, "Before we go on, I have here a letter, from Khepri the Beekeeper herself, which I received just yesterday. As lunchtime is approaching, I'll spare you all the bore of reading it aloud, and just go over the content." No one argued, so on Titus went, mercilessly.

"In short, even if we award her with the White-Gold Rose, thereby making her eligible for election to this most esteemed Council, she will refuse it vehemently; in fact, she was quite clear that if we insisted on this matter and gave it to her anyway, she implied that she would gather up every flea and tick in Cyrodiil and stuff them all into this very city, with emphasis on my own bedchambers, and leave the, quote, 'dreadfully gaudy thing', unquote, on the stairs of White-Gold Tower."

Shocked silence followed this declaration, broken by the Councilor of High Rock, "My Emperor… she _threatened us, _to the effect that she wishes us not to _reward her? _Is she mad?"

"Hmm, no, I don't think so, on either point, really. It doesn't _read_ like a threat, and she seems, well, mostly sane," Titus Mede II replied calmly, briefly opening the letter to check over a few paragraphs before addressing the Council once more, "No, it seems more like a promise of what will happen if we, and I quote her, 'continue to interrupt her retirement with useless baubles and titles she has no wish to carry', unquote."

He could practically hear the entire Elder Council blink in near-unison, before the Thalmor Councilor, Curlima, asked breathlessly, "Why? It's a great honor, one of the highest possible!"

"Well," Titus folded the letter back up and clasped his hands on his lap, speaking frankly, "apparently, she just wants to conduct her business and live out her life in peace, not get involved with the politics of Tamriel. Yes, that's odd for someone who seems set on living in Skyrim, nevermind that she's been declared a Knight Captain-equivalent of the whole Province, but I put it to you all: who wants to go up there and try to change her mind? Anyone want to go tell Khepri she might be elected to the Elder Council someday, whether she likes it or not?"

Not a single hand, including Titus' own, so much as twitched.

"Good. I wasn't looking forward to flea-proofing my bedchambers, and to be perfectly honest, if she wants to stay out of the ongoing conflict, I don't think anyone will argue with her choice. So… as she's already been given a Thanehood, of all of Skyrim at that, as the High King has made her rewards of the Northern Star and King's Blade official, we'll simply add Khepri the Beekeeper's name to the Scroll of Heroes; the announcement will be made at the next Arena fight. All in favor?"

Every hand went up, and the Emperor of Cyrodiil signaled to the court scribe, who dabbed his forehead of sweat and recorded the decision for posterity. Titus then smiled at the Council, "Motion carried, and on that point, let's call it for lunch." For once, no one argued the decision.

**.**

**19th Rain's Hand 4E200  
****Elenwen's Solar, Thalmor Embassy, Skyrim  
****Thalmor Ambassador Elenwen**

"…what?"

Elenwen heard someone say that; it took her a moment to realize it was _her_.

On her couch, dressed in a custom skintight suit of Daedric chainmail between two layers of leather, her best agent, Bathes-In-Blood, one of the last Shadowscales, the only one in the Thalmor's employ, nodded, not looking up from her third goblet of Colovian Brandy.

"Yes. _What_, indeed. My thoughts exactly, El," Bathes-In-Blood replied, her usually dark cheeks a bit rosy from the drink. "All I've been able to think since I heard it. What the _Hist_."

"Vaermina… apologized… to Khepri?" Elenwen's hands were starting to hurt; she relaxed her grip on the chair's armrests, and tried to calm herself down. It didn't work very well, as her voice pitched higher, "_Politely?!"_

"Yes." The Argonian woman downed the whole goblet in one go, then refilled it from the bottle on the table, "I swear, El, Khepri sounded like she'd be taking a stab at the Prince of Nightmares, until they started apologizing; then it was all cordiality and manners, or, near as a Daedra and that _madwoman_ can get to either."

"Who the hells _is _this woman?" the leader of Skyrim's Thalmor searched the reports scattered over her desk, only some of them relating directly to Khepri, but her trained eyes could see the pathways, the patterns.

The girl wasn't just planning to corner the honey market; that family of kiln-workers in Dawnstar didn't just make pots for her honey, they made clay casts for candles, sweetmeats, and other items Bathes or Dennir, the Spymaster in the Pale, couldn't decipher easily… but all held the same scarab seal Khepri had chosen for her mark.

Even worse, Elenwen deduced that, if the "Beekeeper" continued as she was and wasn't impeded by anything worse than Maven Black-Briar – who'd be an issue for a weekend, if that – Khepri would _subvert_ the East Empire Company, eventually starting a dynasty that might one day reign over trade across every nation of Tamriel. Land, sea…

Khepri donated most the honestly _impressive_ amounts of Septims that were awarded her, both as gifts from VIPs and due to the money prizes attached to the medals she was given; she only kept a relative pittance, and sank it all into building a settlement _near Whiterun_, which would eventually facilitate trade from Blackreach…

Because the Chaurus were digging a large tunnel to the surface; its terminal points would be a mere kilometer from the Sun Citadel in Blackreach, curving up in a spiral to exit right outside Weynon Glades.

But most of her money went to the Dwemer researches, who were working on the train that was found in Blackreach's deepest vault; the rail it rode on no longer went anywhere, the portal it used destroyed, but… but…

That path, between Blackreach and Weynon… it was surveyed by the Legion.

The same track the Dwemer Steam Train ran on… could run on that path, provided one was being built.

And she'd sent letters to the Orsimer camps in Skyrim, those that mined orichalcum. Elenwen's agents managed to get a copy of one of the letters – too much risk, should the Dominion's subterfuge be found out, and there'd been too many close calls so far – and while the letter didn't give much away, it suggested future lucrative business arrangements, particularly where Blackreach was concerned.

Khepri was planning on creating the first above-ground railway in Tamriel since the days of the Dwemer, Elenwen was sure of it… and the ridiculous thing was, she could _do it_, if no one stopped her.

Elenwen wanted to – it was her duty, as a member of the Dominion, to stamp out this heresy before it took root – but there were too many unknowns, too many variables… and there were 7455 Chaurus in Blackreach, with more being born each day, all of them able to raze half the continent if Khepri was killed.

_Peace, always_, the Praetorian said; but that peace was _conditional_, anyone with half a brain could see it.

And then there was Khepri herself.

"Who is she?" Elenwen whispered, eyebrow twitching, but not in annoyance.

"We don't _know_." Bathes choked on the last word, sounding lost and afraid. "But given what she said to that ashskin whore in the forest… El, the girl _sounded like she was going to fucking **market**_**, **asking the Jarl if she could go fight Daedra worshipers!"

Lost and afraid… just like Elenwen felt.

"What am I supposed to tell them?" she asked rhetorically, feeling a hysterical laugh coming on, "That the girl who saved dozens of Thalmor lives from the Tyrant, is feared-"

"_No._" Bathes pointed at Elenwen, cutting her off; then again, no one knew this meeting was taking place, or that El didn't much mind, if it was Bathes, "No, Elenwen. Not fear. The Daedra _do not fear_. No… this was _respect_."

"But what in the fuck does that give me?!" she asked in return, "They respect her? So does half of Tamriel! Dawnbringer, but she's not one of Meridia's; we _checked!_"

Bathes snorted, "As if Meridia would tell us. But," A pause, filled with drinking, for both women; Elenwen really needed it. "She can't be aligned with the Queen of Infinite Energies."

"Why not?"

"Can you see Meridia suffering the Chaurus?"

"Hmph, good point… but that still leaves us at square one," her nostrils flared, and she squinted at one particular report, "And Neloth is asking quite a lot, to put a question to Herma Mora."

"Assuming the thing even knows about her."

"Nonsense; Vaermina heard about it from… somewhere… maybe she's really from Akaviir?" it was a stretch, but _maybe_…

"Hmm, no; doesn't match the pictures."

"She _could be_, if she's descended from the days before the Reman Dynasty." A crystal on Elenwen's desk began flashing; putting down her drink, she composed herself and spoke to her _most_ trusted agent, "We'll continue this once the meeting is over."

Bathes grinned, "Good. I'll go slip into something more comfortable." While guarding the area, no doubt; Elenwen waited until she was gone before touching the crystal.

In an instant, she was standing in a world of grey smoke, with a bright illumination from somewhere; three other figures, the only sources of color in this place, began to resolve from the mist.

On the left was a figure sitting in a wheeled chair, practically drowning in concealing robes in the usual black and gold of the Aldmeri Dominion; apparently, the healing rituals he was undergoing weren't being kind to Olquar. To his credit, he seemed in good spirits and not in the mood to complain, greeting Elenwen with a stiff nod; he looked a bit grumpy, too.

In the middle was a grim-faced Altmer in finer robes than Elenwen; he was seated at a desk, his white-blonde hair falling around and hiding his ears. Despite the overall listlessness of his appearance, there lived in his eyes a vigor and energy few others, even among the Thalmor, possessed.

He was High Autarch Solimon, one of the founders of the Thalmor movement; to him reported all high-ranking members of the Dominion outside the Summerset Isles, and at his word, anyone could die.

Last, on the right, was Inquisitor Ancarion, Elenwen's counterpart on the isle of Solstheim. He gave her a grimace and a quick nod, which likely meant the High Autarch either wasn't in a good mood, or there was bad news from that isle to be discussed. Either was bad for Elenwen…

But she still saluted her superior, proudly, "High Inquisitor Elenwen, reporting from Skyrim, your Grace_._"

The High Autarch nodded once, not looking up, but spoke regardless, his angelic voice at odds with his melancholic appearance, "Is it true Stormcloak and that brat of a High King are colluding with one another?"

_'Damnit.'_ Elenwen cursed mentally, wondering who was reporting in her stead, but replied swiftly nonetheless, "Yes, your Grace. They don't do so openly, but in private they intend to unite and bolster the Empire's forces; while Skyrim would create decent auxiliaries for the Empire, they are no match for us, even as we are."

"Mn." His blue eyes rose to meet hers, "And the… Anomaly?"

Elenwen's lips pursed… and she pressed astral fingers to her temple, handing Solimon the memory of Bathes' report; after he inhaled it, and frowned, she added, "I'm vexed on what it means, your Grace."

"The Queen of Illusions respects the Anomaly. As for the title... something to do with her previous deeds, or what she's done with that town, Dawnstar. Curious..." He said aloud, thoughtfully, eyes once more seeing something only he could see; plots within plots, schemes Elenwen wasn't privy to.

She reminded herself: the jealousy she felt was artificial, an illusion of the Dream. Nothing more or less.

"Unsurprising," rasped Olquar, robes rustling in the distance as he adjusted himself in reality, "Wherever she hails from, she likely left countless nightmares in her wake. Small wonder one of them is aware of it."

"Ancarion," the High Autarch's suddenly flinty voice made the named Inquisitor stiffen, "I'll wait for your written report; those ruins will no doubt need more time than you've been allotted, to investigate fully. Rather, I hear you visited Raven Rock."

"Yes, your Grace. I wanted to mount an investigation of the ebony mine there, but the EEC's hooks are in deep with the place. "

"I thought the mine was dried up," Elenwen said.

"It is," Ancarion shrugged uncaringly, "but there's an ancient tomb under it that might aid our Work. Sadly, between the property being privately owned and the Company's protection of the cretin who holds the deed, coupled with House Redoran's watchful eye on the place, I was only allowed to view a few artifacts. There's a Dunmer up the coast, your Grace, digging at the buried ruins of another barrow, but it's deep in the ash; without ruinous expenses, he'll never see the door, nevermind the interior.

"Happily," the Inquisitor didn't look it, to Elenwen, "my visit wasn't entirely wasteful: First Councilor Morvayn's request for an Elder Tarot reading was approved by Blacklight; I managed to infiltrate and observe the reading without detection."

The Elder Tarot. That was surprising, to Elenwen; to her knowledge, only the Moth Priests could use the unique cards that, according to legend, resonated with the same energy as the Elder Scrolls, allowing them to divine lesser truths of the world.

High Autarch Solimon looked mildly interested, which was as good as a wide grin, from a stoic like him, "The subject of the reading?"

Ancarion shifted nervously, "It regarded the Anomaly, Khepri the Beekeeper."

His Grace's brows knitted slightly together, "Why?"

"I wasn't told; one of my Psionic-trained underlings was with me, but he couldn't divine the Councilor's reason fully. Near as we can tell, House Redoran wanted to find her measure."

"There were a few of their House at the Muster," wheezed Olquar, "Likely, they brought home stories, and with the tales we've heard of how the Dunmer utilized the great insects and crab of Morrowind…"

"Typical ashskins," Elenwen scoffed, "wanting her for themselves, only to use as a weapon."

"As opposed to not interfering at all, and running the risk of Skyrim's economy booming while we are entering a critical stage," she winced at her superior's dry statement, though his next words took some of the edge off, "Yes, there isn't much you can do about her, without threat of retaliation, but should we succeed, it'll be irrelevant. Regardless, we'll know more shortly." He nodded to Ancarion…

Who cleared his throat, and reported, "Unlike the 3-3-3 or 3-3-2 card readings, which are more common, this reading came out as 3-4-2. The first card," he pressed two fingers to his temple; across him, Olquar made an astral table at a gesture from Solimon, and Elenwen stepped closer to get a better look at the first card, which resolved as Ancarion's fingers left it.

"The Queen of Blades," he stated, though needlessly, "As you can see, it's an unusual form, clothed half in white with a broken crown in hand, while the other half is black, and holding a long dagger, from which runs a river of blood. She is surrounded by others that aren't usually in its presence, such as the Vizier, the Animunculus, and the Mason, and the Thief is seen in the upper-right, holding the Amulet of Kings.

"The Moth Priest interpreted the card thus: it is a representation of Khepri's past. A monarch who broke the holds of her enemies for herself, and was ruthless against those who opposed her, she was aided by other influential figures, but was impeded in total victory, by the Thief escaping her pursuit."

The next card that was laid down made the other three Altmer stiffen.

"The Conflict. The Queen of Blades replaces the Warrior and duels with the Thief, who flings his daggers while hiding behind his allies; yet both their wounds suggest their fight isn't bloodless, despite their pawns doing most of the fighting. The Thief appears to be trying to break the Amulet, but this fact is hidden from the Queen, whose forces are scattered, trying to find a quick way to stopping him. Meanwhile, in the background… the, _ahm_, Numidium's outline can be seen in the setting sun, its head turned slightly in the Thief's direction."

"What was this card's interpretation?" Solimon asked, voice somehow even _more_ level than usual.

"The Priest was baffled by it; both primary actors have what usually are Heroic portents on their sides, but neither seems to truly have their people's welfare at heart," he shifted uncomfortably, "The Priest _did_ point to the Tower, seen on the Queen's cloak, as a sign that hers was the just cause; nevertheless, the card's meaning remained unclear as the next was revealed."

It was the Cataclysm; the Numidium, wearing the helm of the Warrior, strode onto the battlefield. The Thief laid dead, the Amulet blackened and poisoning his arm. Meanwhile, the Queen of Blades retreated, with whoever was left alive; behind them, the Numidium slew many others, though…

"What do the overlapping spheres mean?" she asked, indicating the sides of the card, where the destroying light of the Numidium was lancing into spheres that crossed boundaries with one another.

"The Priest said they were representations of the Planes," Ancarion whispered, meeting each of his fellow Thalmor's eyes, "He suggested this card depicts an event that affected _multiple_ Planes; though, note the top of the card, where eight stars are left untouched due to a barrier of flame."

"We were left alone," Olquar observed, "But why?"

"It matters not," Elenwen stated, voice iron, "This all-but ensures it: she is not of Nirn."

"So?" they all looked at Solimon, whose face hadn't changed much, if at all, during these revelations, "She is not of Nirn, yet the people love her; so what if she is not from our shores? None have followed her, and there is more to reveal."

"Indeed," Ancarion cleared his throat again, and prepared the next row of cards, "These next cards allude to Khepri's trial against the pseudo-Numidium, as far as any of those present at the reading could determine. The Moth Priest also stated that it was most unusual, for four cards to be dealt in any row."

The first card was the Oath; faced with the destruction that surrounded her, the Numidium's back to her as it struck down the Hierophant, one of her arms now missing, the Queen of Blades still managed to cut her hand on a fallen sword of darkness. The hand was held up in the sign of Oath, and an interlocking square, the sign of the Eight, surrounded her hand, outlined in white.

Elenwen ignored the spoken interpretation, instead wondering how much of the reading was allegory, and what was factual; the answer was likely "mostly allegory", as the idea of _another_ Numidium out there was… rather troubling. The same went with anyone outside of Nirn having knowledge of the Eight, though it _would _neatly explain Khepri's devotions.

In the end, it was irrelevant in the present. Matters of other Planes didn't translate well in the nearly-lost art of Divination, especially when using a lesser medium tied to the Scrolls.

The next card was… odd.

"The Empress?" the depiction was odd, though. A girl took the place of the Empress, crowned and robed in royal red, arms clasped with the Queen of Blades, who stood as an equal before her; the Empress, however, seemed afraid, and the Vizier made another appearance, trying to plead with the Queen as others held them back. In the middle distance, the Numidium, in pitched battle, turned its head in their direction.

"The Moth Priest didn't know how to interpret it, but it apparently means that the Empress did something to the Queen of Blades that got the Numidium's attention; it also leads directly to the next card."

It was laid down.

Solimon jerked, face showing some emotion; Olquar started coughing in shock, and Elenwen just stared, feeling cold.

The Queen was holding a laurel crown with a hand of stars, her face contorted in disgust and pain, her crown cracked and missing gems; in her flesh hand, a sword dripped with red… ichor, stained with the lifeblood of the fallen Numidium at her feet, its four-finned crown now an outline around the Queen's head. All around the Queen, figures raised their hands in worship, or in denial; some raised banners, others readied weapons. A shadow was behind the Queen holding a poisoned dagger, and above her were _all_ the Signs, the stars glimmering in a dome.

The card said it was the Dragon Break.

"This explains much," Solimon said softly, once everyone had a moment to collect themselves. "The Chaurus, her overcoming a great work of the Dwemer, why she abhors conflict… yes, this explains quite a bit about the Anomaly."

"There are still three cards left, your Grace."

"Show me them."

The next card showed… the laurels left in the dirt, with the sword and Queen's vestments; the poisoned dagger was stained with blood, but the former Queen of Blades was walking toward the rising sun, _nine_ stars creating an archway over the glowing orb of Magnus. The masses of people around her seemed to be shunning her… except the Vizier and their compatriots, who looked sad but accepting. A banner with a blue scarab, wings outstretched, lay in the dirt.

The Pariah. Elenwen agreed; _now_ they were getting valuable information.

The second-to-last card was practically inconsequential: it was Kynareth, blessing the former Queen's works, as the dethroned monarch walked with animals on a farm. Nothing new, there.

The last card, though, made her hiss.

Half-crowned with an eye of starlight, her other eye closed in pity; one hand held a blade, the other a trowel; one foot was in an ocean of blood, the other strode barefoot on green grass. The blue scarab beetle appeared again, as the decoration on a shield, laid against the figure's leg.

Yet the figure was small, standing in front of a larger structure, the focus of the card.

The Tower.

Silence reigned for a long moment, as the High Autarch stared at this last, damning card with a flat expression.

Then he looked right at Elenwen.

"I don't care how it happens, what it costs the Dominion, or how long a game you have to play: kill her."

**.**

**20th Rain's Hand, 4E200  
****Heljarchen Hall, Weynon Glades, The Pale, Skyrim  
****Khepri the Beekeeper**

"Ahhhh-_ chii!"_

"Are you alright, my Thane?" Jordis asked behind me; next to her, J'zarro the head carpenter suddenly looking like he wanted to be anywhere else, as though my sneezing had anything to do with how he did his job.

Sniffling, I turned from the inspection of my Alchemy tower's second floor and smiled at Jordis, "I think it's just the fresh smell of this place. Don't worry, J'zarro, you did a fantastic job; I especially like the bees on the floor molding. Very nice touch."

"This one thanks you, Lady Khepri," how much would I have to pay, to make people not call me that? "J'zarro wanted to carve Chaurus, but the, ah, designs would be too unwieldy, to use all over your house. He feels bees make home warmer, and by your smile, this one sees you agree."

"I do," I said breathlessly; the builders really went all-out, constructing a home for me. Granted, I didn't have much say in _how_ the place was put together, but the end result wasn't anything to complain about.

Everything was warm brown and greens, from the bookshelves in the Library – I had my own library! Jarls Skald, Ravencrone, and Balgruuf all donated to it, too! – to the downstairs guest rooms – two of which were built for children – everything was pleasing to look at. And so many display cases; I couldn't wait to put some of Imp's shiny stash on display.

[**delight**] the girl in question all-but shouted into the Hive Mind, along with her brothers and sisters; there was a cavern under the guest quarters, next to the manor's basement – where my mead casks were resting – that now served as their den. A large space was set aside for Skitter, and was half-filled with glowstones from Blackreach; once the tunnel the Chaurus down there were digging reached the surface, another tunnel would be dug from my Chaurus' den to the Blackreach access, so they could visit their kin at their leisure.

But Imp's happiness had more to do with each Chaurus having their own space to live and create their egg sacs in, something that really couldn't be done back in Dawnstar. Even Sophia was [**joyfully**] rolling and burrowing in the soft sands with a few commons and Chevalier, while Judas and Skitter oversaw the herd's placement with weather eyes.

It was so much more spacious… and I now had a four-poster Falkreath Oak bed in my _very_ well-furnished master bedroom, with Dwemer metal fittings, made by Adrianne Avennicci in Whiterun. I intended to put it to the test soon… and there went my mood. Bother.

After thanking J'zarro a few more times, he left to rejoin the founding party on the ground floor, where Vilkas and Skjor of the Companions were entertaining my other housewarming invitees with a tale of their deeds; something to do with fighting Forsworn at Bard's Leap. Interesting, but other matters were occupying my thoughts…

Jordis tapped my arm, drawing my attention; her armor was polished and hair freshly washed, and she was smiling. She nodded toward the Library, "Want to see the balcony?"

"Oh, yes," I grinned, and led the way, saying, "If I go down there, no doubt someone will talk me into drinking one of my mead bottles, and the greenhouses aren't settled in yet."

"It's very good mead, especially the snowberry blend," she sipped from the bottle that'd been in her hand for the past few hours, and _ahh-_ed in happiness again, "Reminds me of the time I ate an apple during winter, then ate a handful of snow on a dare from the Solitude guards."

We exited the house through the library's second floor, and stood on the porch of the manor, which overlooked the nearby village of Weynon Glades; the guardhouse and inn, _Kyne's Repose_, were all lit up and giving off a feeling of festival.

Today was the official opening of the settlement; people had come from as far away as Whiterun to take part… except the person I wanted there the most.

"Where _is_ he?" I asked the air, and Jordis, who seemed to be enjoying the sight of the festivities over near Cristus and Wumeek's farm; I could practically hear the big Nord's laughter from where I was.

"Take heart, m- _Khepri_. Sorry," she smiled ruefully, "Still getting used to calling you by name in private. It's not the done thing, for a Houscarl."

"I don't… really mind."

"Right, _ahem_. Don't you worry much about Farkas, Khepri; you know, better than I, how tough he is. He's probably out finishing a job, like Vilkas said."

I quirked my lip at her reddening cheeks, and ignored the longing in my heart, in favor of lightly teasing my butler, "You two seemed to get on rather well."

"He's rather polite, isn't he?" oh my, Jordis was grinning?

"Should I tell J'zarro to soundproof your room?" she laughed – lightly, but progress was progress – and shook her head swiftly; abandoning my teasing, I sighed into a fresh breeze out of the south, and examined my evening vista.

Forests to the north, filled with countless insects. Mountains to the east and west, the Throat of the World dominating the eastern sky, and the distant lights of Whiterun far to the south, barely seen in the setting sun; and further, the suggestion of mountains and forests again. Perhaps, on a clear day, I'd be able to see the Jeralls.

War threatened all of this, and I was no fool; even with the conversations I've had and the letters I sent out, no doubt someone would try to upset this peace. Like the Thalmor. Or 'idiotic nobility', as Bori, Weynon's newly-minted Thane, put it.

"You look incredible, sometimes." I looked at Jordis, who blushed and found something interesting about her bottle.

"Was that a drunken thought?"

She shook her head, and replied quietly, swishing mead around as she spoke, "No. You _are_ incredible, so precise in everything you do, and most people respect and fear you for what you, and only you, can do." Jordis looked me in the eye, still a little red in her cheeks, "But when you're relaxed, you have this… air, about you. Like you're not wholly like the rest of humanity, but someone – or thing – greater than us." She chuckled, "Makes a girl feel awed, and a little useless, you know."

"You're not useless," I insisted, "You're better at talking with Mr. Cecia, over at the barrow. And…" I trailed off, wincing at the recent-but-old memories from _before_. They seemed so fresh, yet so long ago… "…I've… seen things, _done_ things, that people would consider heroic. Or villainous."

She scoffed, "You? A villain? I have a hard time seeing-"

"I once filled a man's eyes with maggots because he upset me."

Jordis took a long pull from her bottle in lieu of answering that.

"I mean… there was something he could _do_ with his eyes, something awful, and it angered me, but the specifics…" I shook my head, annoyed at the abstract parts of my mind, and the headaches that came with trying to remember too hard. "Maybe I should schedule a trip to Winterhold, see their Master of Restoration about my amnesia."

Jordis hummed a moment, then, "…If I may speak plainly?" I gave her a dry look, and she smiled sheepishly, "Yeah, I can see why you'd want your memories back; if I was in your shoes, I'd give anything to remember what I'd lost. My parents, my origins, how I grew up… but, Khepri," she frowned, but didn't break eye contact with me, "your past, what you've told me of it, was brutal beyond anything I've heard of. So, ask yourself: is it worth remembering?"

I barely had to think about it, "While it _would_ be nice to figure out whether or not I had a lover before, because," I scoffed, and pulled my tea flask out of my tunic, "I have _no idea_ what I'm doing with Farkas… you have a point, Jordis. The past should stay there; what I remember is enough to give me nightmares, regardless."

"All warrior's pasts are like that, Khepri," Jordis assured me companionably; she stood from her place on the rail, and held up her bottle with a smile, "So, to the future?"

I laughed, and toasted her, "Whatever it may bring."

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And with that, we leave the initial stages of the story behind!

Next up, we have Farkas, Imp, and Brelyna's quest for the Galdur Amulet, and after that, the wedding!

Oh, the Thalmor? Ignore them, their attempts at offing Khepri from the shadows will become apparent, in time.

Thanks for reading!

EDIT: To clarify: the Elder Tarot is like the Emperor's Tarot of Warhammer 40K lore, a deck of psionically-attuned cards that resonate with a greater power. While in WH40K it's the Emperor, here, they resonate with the Elder Scrolls. They're made from the wings of Ancestor Moths - a type of moth that, through a ritual you conduct during the Dawnguard questline, help non-Moth Priests read Elder Scrolls without risking blindness, loss of sanity, or death.

Also like the other kind, the cards can change their image to fit the reading, hence the images seen in this chapter.


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